


Soften Your Edges, Child

by Apuzzlingprince



Series: IT Fanfics [8]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Bill parents are divorced, Friends to Lovers, Georgie is still dead, Growing Up Together, M/M, Robert lives with his granny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-01-21 02:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12448038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: When Bill moves into Neibolt street after his parents' divorce, he befriends an odd boy named Robert Gray who lives with his grandma.He crossed the street, looking left and right as he’d been taught in school, and made his way over to the swings.Another boy was already sitting in one, much larger and taller than himself. His sweep of ginger hair fell low over his bright hazel eyes.“Hi,” said Bill, watching him sway back and forth. “I’m B-Bill. Who’re you?”The boy dug his feet into the mulch, forcing himself to slow to a stop. “You can call me Robert,” said the boy.





	1. The boy next door

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, before I post this, please keep in mind: this is complete AU territory. I take a lot of liberties with Robert (Pennywise) so he’s a fully rounded character rather than a stereotypical ‘creepy kid’. He’s an odd child, but he is still a child for much of this fic; not a monster, and his behaviour doesn’t really start to get concerning/more Pennywise-ish until he’s an adult. This fic is also going to be a lot softer than my other Billwise/Pennybill fics, courtesy of the whole ‘growing up together and falling in love’ premise.
> 
> In regard to Bill, I’ve split up his parents (which is something that often happens to families that lose children) and moved him to Neibolt street. His dad is an absolute asshole, which I felt was strong in the movie and made it easy to characterise him how I do in this fic.

Bill was nine when he first ventured beyond his decrepit suburban home on Neibolt street. He’d been out of the house before then, of course; his dad seized any opportunity to push him into someone else’s care, make him someone else’s problem, but it was at nine that he ventured out of the Neibolt house _alone_ for the first time. He had done it a handful of times at his old house – his moms house – with his parents’ permission and supervision, but the idyllic life he’d had from ages one through eight seemed an eternity away after a full year of living on Neibolt street with his dad. It was one of the few places they had been able to afford, according to his dad’s angry rants on the phone.

The reason for his venturing out was a playground on the opposite side of the street. A rather old, rusty playground surrounded by neglected grass, but that was no deterrent to a nine-year-old. He crossed the street, looking left and right as he’d been taught in school, and made his way over to the swings.

Another boy was already sitting in one, much larger and taller than himself. His sweep of ginger hair fell low over his bright hazel eyes.

“Hi,” said Bill, watching him sway back and forth. “I’m B-Bill. Who’re you?”

The boy dug his feet into the mulch, forcing himself to slow to a stop. “You can call me Robert,” said the boy. He then pointed at Bill’s house. “Is that your house?”

“It’s my dad’s h-house.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No it isn’t,” said Bill, because his father would commonly tell him as much.

Robert rocked in place. “How old are you? You don’t look old enough to be out here without your mom.”

“My m-mom doesn’t l-l-live with me,” he informed Robert. “She left my d-dad when my bro-b-brother died. It’s just my dad n-now.”

“Your brother died?”

“Yeah,” said Bill, and his stomach twisted with guilt as he did. He knew it was his fault Georgie was dead. “He f-fell in a g-g-gutter and d-drowned.”

“My parents are dead too, I think,” said the boy, which startled Bill out of his self-condemnation. “At least, I hope so, since they aren’t with me like they should be. My grandma looks after me.” Robert pointed to the swing. “Are you gonna sit?”

After brushing down the seat – something Robert snorted at – Bill sat upon it, feet hanging off the ground. “I’m n-nine and a half,” he told Robert.

“I’m eleven,” Robert said back. “Do you go to school? I don’t.”

“Why not?” he asked, confused. He hadn’t known there were kids that didn’t go to school.

“My grandma home schools me.”

“What’s t-that?”

“Means I take all the classes from school at home.”

“Oh. Well, I’m in ele-meh-tury school,” he said, though the word ‘elementary’ came out as a garbled mess. Robert seemed to understand regardless. “I’m in g-grade four.”

“I hated school,” Robert groused. He kicked his feet through the mulch, sending it jetting through the air. Bill did the same, because it looked fun. He ended up getting dirt in his shoes and promptly decided to stop. “The other kids didn’t like me. That’s why I’m home schooled.”

“I like school,” said Bill.

“You shouldn’t!”

“But I like l-learning and r-recess.”

“There’s too many kids,” Robert muttered, which Bill thought was odd, since Robert himself was a kid. He would have liked to voice his confusion, but he heard his father bellow out from their veranda before he could.

“Bill! Get the fuck back in here!”

When he turned in his swing, he saw his father gesturing for him to come back inside.

“Your dad said a bad word!” whispered Robert with awe.

Bill didn’t know what word he was referring to; those were all words his dad spoke with regularity, so he shrugged and hopped off the swing.

“I gotta go,” he said, and bounded across the overgrown grass, eager to reach his house. The faster he responded to his father’s call, the less mad he’d be when Bill got there. “C-come to my h-house sometime,” he shouted over his shoulder, glancing back to make sure Robert heard him.

Robert didn’t respond, merely continued swaying in his swing.

When Bill got home and his father had finished chastising him, he sat in his room and thought about the boy, and he decided he liked him, and that they were friends.

* * *

The next time they saw each other, it was because Robert had climbed over the fence separating their houses. It was a tall fence with an additional length of metal around the perimeter that his father had installed to dissuade the neighbourhood strays from ransacking their backyard, but Robert managed to find a way over regardless. He knocked on Bill’s bedroom window and Bill came out immediately, eager to play.

The games Bill played with Robert weren’t the sort of games he was used to in elementary school. Robert didn’t want to play the traditional cops or robbers, or hide and seek, or family (which Bill secretly appreciated, because he usually ended up in the role of house pet, and Bill didn’t think he made a very good dog). He wanted to play games about being the president and murdering anyone who crossed him and ordering atomic strikes, which were all concepts Bill had only a vague understanding of. Robert had a lot of strange aspirations for his future.

“It’ll all happen one day,” he told Bill, referring to their recent game of President Robert and his trusty sidekick, Bill. Bill didn’t think ‘sidekick’ was the correct name for an official government employee, but he didn’t know enough about the government to say whether or not that was the case.

“I’m going to be president,” added Robert wistfully. “I’ll kill all the people I don’t like.”

Bill agreed, mostly because he didn’t really know what being the president actually entailed despite their games, and he figured it couldn’t be that hard to become president when they’d had over thirty, by his father’s estimation.

These games continued on until Bill was eleven and Robert was fourteen, at which point Robert deemed them too ‘babyish’ to continue playing. But Bill didn’t mind. He’d taken up reading by this point, so he preferred books (many of which were horror; he had a particular love for Goosebumps) to physical play anyway. Sometimes Robert would let Bill read to him, though Bill wasn’t very good at speaking a lot of words out loud yet, and his stutter didn’t help. 

A few times Bill dared jump the fence to visit Robert. It took a great deal of effort because Bill was very short, almost a foot shorter than Robert, who had begun a growth spurt the year prior, and he didn’t have any ladders in his house he could use. His father wasn’t much of a handyman, these days. He didn’t do much of anything except lounge around and feel sorry for himself.

When he arrived on Robert’s doorstep, a kindly old woman with bouncy ginger hair would invite him inside and shove butterscotch candies into his hand while they waited for Robert to come downstairs. He couldn’t pronounce her name properly, so she had permitted him to call her ‘mom’. Bill liked that. He hadn’t seen or heard from his real mother in years.

“It’s so nice that Robert has a friend,” she’d say, ruffling Bill’s hair in a way that was actually a little annoying. “He gets so lonely, being home schooled. I’m glad he has someone to play with.”

Bill himself knew what it was like not to have any friends at school, so he sympathised. With his speech impediment, it had taken him years to find a friend in Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, and Stan Uris. If Robert had attended his elementary school, Bill wouldn’t have let him sit alone at recess like Bill had often had to.

Bill never spent too long at Robert’s house. If he did and his father noticed his absence, he’d get in trouble. He was usually safe for a few hours, though, because his father scarcely glanced outside to check on him, and would assume Bill was playing in the little alleyway between their house and the fence if he couldn’t see Bill straight away.

His favourite thing to do while at Robert’s house was to sit next to Robert on Robert’s bed and watch cartoons on the tiny portable television Robert owned. His father monopolized the television at home, so it was one of the few times he actually got to watch whatever he wanted. He’d usually eat all the candies he’d been given by Robert’s granny before he was due back at his house. He rarely got candy at home, so it was hard to resist the temptation to eat them all in one sitting when he finally did get his hands on some.

On his twelfth birthday, Robert gifted him the portable television. It was the only gift he’d received since his brothers passing and certainly the nicest and most expensive. He immediately broke into tears of gratitude.

* * *

“Why don’t you ever let me inside your house?” asked Robert while they sat in Bill’s yard, hunched beneath his bedroom window. All they’d been doing lately was reading quietly in the shade, unwilling to brave the hot summer sun. Derry didn’t have many hot days, but when it did, they were sweltering. He suspected that was why Robert had been asking to relocate to Bill’s bedroom instead lately.

Bill had no intention of obliging that request, not while there was even the slightest chance his father would come home and find out Bill had let someone into the house without his permission. Robert would end up banned for life, and Bill was still holding out hope that his father would show some leniency regarding guests when he reached high school. Maybe when he was thirteen he would invite Robert to view his bedroom from the _inside_.

He descended deeper into his book. “You w-wouldn’t like it in th-t-there. It’s messy.”

“My rooms messy,” said Robert.

“It’s more cl-c-cluttered than m-messy. You need a b-bigger room.”

“Your room’s pretty big,” Robert observed, peering through his window. There wasn’t much to see in there. Bill had few personal possessions to speak of and he kept most of what he did have in his wardrobe.

(Once he’d had a bike named ‘Silver’, but that had been a long time ago.)

His room wasn’t at all like Robert’s room, which had a vast assortment of things gifted to him by his grandma. According to Robert, he hadn’t thrown single gift he’d ever received out, even after it’d broken. The sentimental value made it priceless.

He also had some things he’d told Bill he’d stolen from other kids, but Bill tried not to acknowledge those things. His collection of stolen trinkets made Bill uneasy. That was the sort of thing people went to prison for. Bill knew all about prison from books and television and it definitely wasn’t a place you wanted to go.

“It only looks buh-b-big ‘cus I don’t have m-much in there.” He turned a page of his book, but his attention span was compromised and he found himself re-reading the same sentence three times. He grunted in annoyance.

“Could you stop l-looking in my w-window?” he asked, frowning up at Robert. “There’s nuh-n-nothing in there.”

“I know,” murmured Robert. “I was just thinking we could get you some stuff.”

“Huh?” This prompted Bill to snap his book shut. “Like what? F-from where?”

“Furniture and stuff,” answered Robert. “The kind of stuff I have in my room. I mean, you don’t even have a desk. How do you do homework?”

“On the c-coffee table.”

“We should get you a desk,” Robert continued, as though he hadn’t heard Bill’s answer. “Grandma could get you one. She’s good at stuff like that.”

Bill wouldn’t mind a desk, if he was honest. He just didn’t know how he would explain it to his father. His father wasn’t the most observant of people, but Bill didn’t expect a desk suddenly appearing in Bill’s room to escape his notice.

“W-what’ll I t-tell my dad,” he asked, to see if Robert had any ideas.

“Why? Wouldn’t he want you to have a desk?”

“No.”

“Your dad’s a weirdo.”

“H-he is,” Bill agreed heatedly, growing mad that he didn’t have the kind of father that wouldn’t get upset at him for something as trivial as acquiring a desk. His dad was pretty useless at being a dad. He wasn’t anything like the dads Bill read about in his books. Or at least, he hadn’t been since Georgie’s death. Missing Georgie was fine; Bill missed him too, but didn’t Bill deserve to be loved, too? Why couldn't his dad be like all the other dads, the ones who took their kids to the park and made them lunches for school and let them invite their friends over?

 “Bill?” Robert resumed hunching beneath the window. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he spat, throwing down his book – and then quickly retrieving it so it didn’t end up sullied by dirt and bugs.  He brushed it down with a sleeve.

As he stood to squeeze the book through the gap in his window, he resolved to get a desk. He suddenly didn’t like how bare his room looked. For some inexplicable reason, it made him embarrassed, and he wished Robert hadn’t seen it. Robert’s room was so much nicer than his own.

“So wh-w-where can we g-get a desk?” he asked Robert.

It seemed to take Robert a moment to register that Bill was agreeing to his plan. When it finally did, he beamed and leapt to his feet. While Bill had grown considerably since the first time they had met, his height had yet to breach the five-foot two mark, so he still had to look up at Robert while they were both standing.

Robert threaded their fingers. The summer heat had made his hand sweaty. Bill didn’t mind, though he was definitely going to wipe it dry on his shirt the moment Robert let go.

“Grandma’ll know. Come on!”

They trudged through to Bill’s front yard, and then into Robert’s, knocking upon Robert’s door. It didn’t take Robert’s granny long to answer. They didn’t manage to get a word in edgewise before she had ushered them in for sandwiches and lemonade, but Bill didn’t mind since he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, which had consisted of a bowl of mushy cornflakes.

She offered them ham and chicken filling. Bill took the chicken, while Robert took the ham and murmured something about liking the pink of it. Bill almost forgot his purpose for being there while munching on his food.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. Both Robert and Miss Gray turned to him. “Mom, me and R-Robert want a d-desk.”

Miss Gray failed to comprehend what he meant. “You already have a desk, Robert dear. Is there something wrong with it?”

Robert nearly choked on his food in his haste to answer. “No! No, it’s a _great_ desk, granny. He means one for himself.”

“You don’t have a desk?” she asked.

“No. I just have a b-bed and a w-wardrobe.” He rather liked his wardrobe and his bed, but he still wanted a desk, something he could store his library books in. Currently he left them in a pile at the end of his bed.

Miss Gray’s voice and expression turned sour. With how kind and approachable she often looked, it was an odd look on her. “Your father should treat his little boy better! Little boys need to be loved and spoiled by their parents.” She huffed. “Yes, we can get you a desk, as long as you strong boys don’t mind helping me carry it into the house.”

Into the house.

Somehow it hadn’t occurred to Bill that he would need to invite the Gray’s inside in order to transfer the desk to his room. He’d been envisioning it entering through his window. In retrospect, his window wasn’t nearly big enough to accommodate the width of a desk.

Bill’s shoulders slumped. “My dad’ll get a-angry if I l-let you inside.”

“Who cares,” mumbled Robert around a mouthful of his sandwich.

“Is your dad here?” asked Miss Gray.

“He’s at w-work,” said Bill.

Miss Gray clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Leaving his little boy all alone throughout the day…” She shook her head some more, then rose to her feet and reached for a phonebook sitting on the kitchen counter. “I’ll be back shortly. Granny needs to make a few calls, darlings.”

For a while, Bill and Robert ate in silence, listening to the indistinct sounds of Miss Gray chattering away on the phone. Robert finished his food before Bill and moved on to picking at the candy bowl in the middle of the table, eating all the red candies with such enthusiasm that Bill chewed faster just so he could try them too. He only managed to get one in his mouth before Miss Gray returned.

“Come outside, my dears. I’ve called a taxi and they’ll be here shortly.” She retrieved their cutlery and placed them in the sink. “I’ve found a place selling a desk that’s willing to deliver, but we must have a look at it, first.”

“Any d-desk is okay,” said Bill, not wanting to inconvenience Miss Gray. “Even one from the d-dump. If it’s f-f-from the dump, it’ll e-even be free.”

Miss Gray dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand. “Nonsense. You will not sit at a desk from the dump. That would be unsanitary.”

“It’s not guh-g-going to be expensive, is it?” he asked, because he didn’t have any money. Not a single penny. His father didn’t give him pocket money like other fathers did. When he wanted something, he generally had to nab money from his father’s wallet while his father was inebriated enough not to notice. It was not a good thing to steal from one’s father, Bill knew, but it was only ever a few dollars, and he usually used it on buying the brand name peanut butter spreads for school sandwiches. He didn’t like the cheap kind. It tasted stale.

“Oh, no, they have special prices at the store we’re going.” Miss Gray reached over to pat the top of his head. “You don’t have to worry. I don’t expect you to pay me back. You are a good boy and you’re good to my little Robert. That is enough.”

“Thank you.” Bill blink repeatedly to combat his growing urge to cry. “You’re s-s-so nice,” he added, voice cracking.

Miss Gray made a soft, mournful sound and bent down to gather him into her frail arms, giving him a tight squeeze. Bill hadn’t felt the profound warmth of a guardian’s hug since the day Georgie had died. He leaned into it, seeking additional contact. It felt nice. It felt safe. This, Bill realized, was what a guardian was supposed to feel like; not hard and cold and angry. “Let us go and get your desk, darling,” said Miss Gray, her voice soft. She carded her long, bony fingers through his hair. “The taxi will be here soon.” It was with great reluctance that he dislodged.

The taxi arrived within five minutes of them stepping outside. Though the journey to the town was generally a drive Bill would consider long, it went fast with them chatting among themselves in the back.

They entered a store filled with all sorts of things Bill had never seen before. Stained glass lamps, yellowing tomes, footstools, televisions, porcelain dolls, and a basket full of buttons, to name just a fraction of what was on display. The smell of dust was absolutely everywhere, invading every corner of the shop. Bill sneezed repeatedly while examining the various things on sale. Robert joined him in touching every available surface while the adults chatted away, leaving their fingerprints scattered throughout the store. When Robert found an army knife with a grinning skull on the handle, it took a considerable amount of whispered pleading to dissuade him from stealing it.

“Bill,” Miss Gray called, and he rushed to her side. “Here’s the desk. What do you think?”

Bill peered past her and at the piece of furniture as which she had gestured. He gasped when he saw it, in awe of its shiny red wood and ornate handles. The obvious age of it didn’t bother him in the slightest. He planted his hands on the top to feel the smoothness of the wood, not at all bothered by the bumps and scratches he would regularly encounter.

“A cat got to it,” explained the store owner. “That’s how them scratches got there. Doesn’t seem like your boy much minds, though.”

“It’s the b-best desk ever!” he exclaimed, grinning at the man.

His enthusiasm must have been infectious, because the dour looking man wasn’t able to restrain a smile.

“You’ll be taking it, then?” asked the store owner, this time speaking to Miss Gray.

“Definitely.” Miss Gray reached into her bag for her purse. “And thank you for agreeing to drop it off. Your generosity is much appreciated.”

“S’not a problem,” said the man, extended a hand to accept payment. Bill watched a few crumpled up green bills land in his palm. “It’s been taking up space, anyway.”

“When do you expect it to arrive?” Miss Gray asked.

“About three days,” said the man.

“Three d-days is ages,” Bill whined, but only to Robert, who hunkered in close in order to hear his grievance. He’d hoped to receive the desk today so he could do his maths homework on it that night.

“And it comes with a chair, yes?” Miss Gray asked next.

“Of course it does. A nice study one, too.” A desk _and_ a chair; Bill was starting to feel spoilt. He would’ve been happy to sit on a box.

Before they left the store, Bill thanked the store owner profusely for selling the desk to him, promising he would come back some day for the cool looking tomes. The owner was so smitten with him that he handed Bill one for free. He clutched it to his chest all the way back to the taxi, which had been waiting outside for them.

Three more days, and he would have his very own desk. It would be the first thing Bill had ever owned that was truly his, something he could display proudly. Everything else had been given to him by his father, and so they belonged to his father, but that wouldn’t be the case for the new addition to his room.

* * *

The day his desk arrived, Robert and Miss Gray helped transfer it to his bedroom. They positioned it close to the window so he would be able to work under sunlight and spoke briefly of acquiring a bookshelf next. Bill refused the offer, but thanked them for their generosity. He thought the drawers would work just fine for storing his books, even if a bookcase would have been more ascetically pleasing.

That night, he ascended the fence and dropped into Robert’s backyard. His chilled fingers trembled as he sought the key for the backdoor in the dark, the key Miss Gray hid beneath a loose stepping stone in case of an emergency, and used it to unlock the backdoor and let himself inside. Bill thought this qualified as an emergency.

The house was silent as he crept down the lengthy entrance hall. Last he’d checked, it was past eleven, and both Miss Gray and Robert went to sleep much earlier than that. He stole his way up the stairs and to Robert’s bedroom. At the door, he could hear Robert’s soft, slumbering breaths and swallowed, working himself up to waking Robert from his deep sleep. It was a school day and he’d feel bad if Robert was drowsy all through home-schooling tomorrow. His granny had a strict schedule. He knew how horrible it was to study while tired. His father regularly watched television at full volume into the early hours of the morning, and Bill would scarcely get sleep on those nights. A few times, Bill had called in sick to the front office just so he could grab some rest.

He stood at the door until his toes went numb from the cold, then shouldered his way inside. Robert stirred at the creak of the door and started to turn over in bed. He shot upright when he noticed Bill, his hazel eyes wide and strangely florescent in the dark of the room. A slither of moonlight was the only source of illumination in the room.

“Hi,” Bill offered feebly while Robert groped at this bedside table, turning on his lamp. The glare of the bulb prompted Bill to squeeze his eyes shut. They throbbed from the suddenness of it.

“What time is it-?” Robert began to ask, but he hissed upon seeing Bill in the light. “What the _hell_ happened to your face!?”

Bill self-consciously covered the angry red and blue smear surrounding his right eye with a pyjama sleeve.

“Just my d-dad being a j-jerk,” mumbled Bill. “Can I s-sleep with you? Please?”

“Billy…” Robert threw his legs over the side of his bed. “Did your dad hit you? Parents aren’t supposed to hit their kids.”

“He was j-just m-mad,” said Bill, his voice cracking. He sniffed and lowered his head, chin dropping onto his clavicle. He hated crying in front of people. He knew he looked like a wuss when he did, and his black eye stung when it filled with tears. He knew it was all bloodshot and ugly. When he went to school tomorrow, people were going to know he’d been bad.

Robert crossed his room and threw his arms around Bill’s quaking shoulders. Still sniffling, Bill twisted his hands into Robert’s sleep-warm clothes and rested his head upon Robert’s shoulder, rubbing his face on Robert’s pyjamas. While he wept, one of Robert’s hands slid up his back to pet the crown of his head.

“Why’d he hit you?” asked Robert after a brief period of silence.

“’Cus I didn’t a-ask if I c-could have the d-desk,” mumbled Bill.

“Oh.” Robert bit his lip. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your f-fault.”

Robert didn’t seem to know what to say, so he continued stroking Bill’s hair. Bill didn’t like it much when adults touched his hair; they always messed it up, but he didn’t mind when Robert did it. “Do you wanna stay here the night, buddy?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” said Bill. He didn’t want to have to go home and listen to his father snoring from the lounge room.

“Go lay down on my bed,” said Robert, gently dislodging him. Bill frowned at the loss of physical contact. “I’ll be back in a sec, I promise,” said Robert. “Just go lay down.”

Bill did as he was told and padded over to Robert’s bed, nesting himself beneath the quilts. The mattress was still warm. It smelt soft and clean, not like his own bed, which hadn’t been washed in some time. He rolled into the slight dip created by Robert’s body and made himself comfortable.

When Robert returned, he bought with him a small round container. He joined Bill in the bed and removed the lid, sticking his fingers into viscous white cream. It smelt of coconut and Bill idly wondered if it would taste like coconut, too.

“This is for bruises,” Robert explained. He extended a hand to Bill’s injury, and Bill obligingly closed his eye so he could dab the cream onto his bruise. It was cold enough to elicit a gasp. Bill remained still, however, and let Robert apply a thick layer of it beneath his eye. “I got into fights a lot at school, so granny bought this,” he continued. “It’s really good. Can’t grow back teeth, though.”

“It smells like coconut,” Bill mumbled.

“Is that okay?” asked Robert, a touch concerned.

Bill nodded, and then ceased nodding when he almost got the cream in his eye. A small globe of it got caught on an eyelash. “Damn it,” whispered Robert, wiping it off with a corner of his sheet.

Bill lay completely still until Robert had finished applying the cream. When he was done, Robert returned the lid to the container and stowed it in his desk drawer, turning off the light in the process. The room was pitch black when he slid down beside Bill and pulled Bill into his chest, tucking Bill under his chin. Usually Bill found the dark frightening and would keep his door ajar so a wedge of light would come streaming in from the hallway, but Robert chased away any scary thoughts he might have had about what lurked in the shadows. There were much scarier monsters that could be seen during the day, anyway.

With morning arrived the smell of bacon sizzling on a stove, a smell Bill was wholly unfamiliar with. Miss Gray had come into Robert room that morning and noticed Bill, so she had cooked an additional serving. She even made Bill a lunch to take to school. It was the first time he’d had a lunch made for him by an adult in some time. His father had stopped when Bill had shown the competency (and frankly, _preference_ ) to make his own food.

His father never noticed he wasn’t in his room.  When he returned home from school, his father acknowledged him with a grunt and resumed watching his shows on the telly. Bill tried to smother his hurt with the knowledge he had two other people that cared about him, at least. 


	2. I'll always like you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys like this chapter!

Bill found himself getting bored during English class. When stuck in his house with nothing else to do, he usually raked through any reading material he owned to pass the time, and he’d finished the English textbook and all their assigned readings for the year long before he was meant to. The daily tasks didn’t take him more than a few minutes to complete and he often spent most of his English lessons waiting to hand up his completed work to the teacher. The teacher noticed this and sent him to speak to the principle, who discussed with him and his father the possibility of Bill preparing for high school English instead- something she said would be a stepping stone to being on the honours roll. His father was staunchly against it, refusing to believe Bill could cope with academic acceleration, but Bill begged and pleaded and eventually he gave in, if only because it meant the additional workload would keep Bill out of his hair for longer. 

Once in high school, he was encouraged by the school counsellor to join advanced classes for English and Geography, both of which were subjects he had a firm grasp on. At this point he hadn’t had strong feelings on academic acceleration either way, so he agreed. If he struggled, he could easily drop back into normal classes, and if he didn’t, he would have fewer classes in his final year of high school and would be able to spend more time _writing_ instead. By now, Bill had figured out he wanted to write stories for a living.

He discovered the workload to be fine. Not too easy, not too hard, and Bill certainly never found himself bored with the subject matter covered. Problems only arose when he stepped foot out of the classroom, where he would find himself among people who had little love for anyone who displayed any kind of ‘nerdiness’. His advanced classes made him a regular subject of bullying by Henry Bowers and his gang, and his friends – the Losers – weren’t much larger than him and consequently weren’t able to offer much help when he was being chased around the schoolyard. Keeping his head down wasn’t enough to dissuade the Bower’s gang from targeting him, so when he was being hounded, he would find a quiet place behind the school, away from the smokers and tweakers, and eat his lunch in solitude.

His favourite spot was on the steps to a seldom used projector room. It was a small, quiet, clean niche where he could sit and eat his food and watch as cars passed through the student parking lot. Today, however, he arrived at his spot to find several older kids sitting where he would usually sit and passing around a cigarette, like they were trying to be cool. They looked like the sort of kids the actual cool kids would push into a locker if ever they spotted them holding a cigarette. He recognized one of them as Victor Criss, who Bill knew had recent had a falling out with Henry over Henry beating up his kid cousin.

Bill stood and stared at them for a while, paper lunch bag clutched in his hands. He didn’t notice Robert sitting among them until the boy stood to peer across at him.

“Billy?”

Bill jumped in shock. He almost didn’t recognize Robert with his hair slicked back and black caked beneath his eyes. He wore a plain white shirt, black jeans, and a handsome red hoodie over the top. Bill himself wore the school uniform and didn’t know why Robert and his friends weren’t doing the same. “What’re you d-doing here?” he asked. “I t-thought you were h-home schooled.”

“That stopped a while ago,” said Robert.

“Oh.” Robert had never told him he’d started attending high school. When the subject of schooling had come up, he’d usually dismissed it with a sour expression. Bill had been under the impression he just hated learning. “I go to sc-s-school here too,” he informed Robert, stupidly. He blushed when Robert’s friends snickered. “I’m a f-freshman.”

Robert’s companions glanced between them. “You know this kid?” one asked. “He’s like, five. What’re you doing hanging out with a five-year-old?”

Robert’s eyes narrowed, but Bill answered before he could. “I’m th-t-thirteen, and Robert’s my friend.”

“No he isn’t.” Robert announced loudly, levelling a glare at Bill, as though to say ‘you’d better stop talking’. “Bill’s my neighbour. We talk sometimes. We’re not friends.”

This was news to Bill. “We’re n-not?” asked Bill weakly.

“No,” said Robert, raising a hand in dismissal. “You’re just a kid. You can’t hang out with a fifteen-year-old. It’d be weird.”

Bill’s bottom lip quivered. Robert’s words hurt horribly. It wasn’t that long ago that they’d sat in Bill’s backyard and played card games well into the evening, and he didn’t think that was the sort of thing people did together just because they were neighbours. For years, he’d been referring to Robert as a friend; had he been wrong to do so? Maybe this entire time, Robert had just been taking pity on him, taking pity on the poor little kid next door that kept on coming over to bother him.

He stared down at his lunch bag and tried not to cry. The older kids would laugh at him if he did. He’d quickly found out that in high school, crying was completely unacceptable and social suicide.

Victor Criss barked a laugh. “Geeze, that’s rough, dude. You broke the little kid’s heart.”

“But we’re not friends,” Robert insisted.

“Sure, sure.” Victor handed Robert what little remained of the cigarette and Robert stuck it in his mouth, sucking on it like a lollypop. He blew smoke out of his nostrils.

“Hey, kid.” Bill reluctantly raised his head. The friend that had spoken earlier was now addressing him. “Are you gonna get going or what? It’s kinda awkward with you just standing there.” A pause, and he asked. “You’re not gonna taddle on us, are you?”

“No, no, of c-course not,” Bill forced out, voice cracking. “I’m not a s-snitch.” He turned to walk away and he thought he saw Robert gaze worriedly at him as he did. That was probably just wishful thinking, though.

He didn’t see Robert again for a few days, nor did he respond when Robert jumped into his back yard and knocked on his window. Every evening, he sat in his bed and read. In his books, he could get lost. He could pretend he had a better life, one with his little brother and parents who treasured him the way parents were supposed to and a house that his friends were allowed to visit. After a while, Robert stopped trying to get his attention. He found Robert in the playground, sometimes, swinging idly on the swing Bill had found him upon all those years ago, but that was the extent of their interaction.

Bill missed him. He missed Miss Gray, too. He thought often of the night Robert had let him occupy his bed and fell asleep with his hand tangled in Bill’s hair.

* * *

The night of his fourteenth birthday, Bill awoke to the hiss of his window being opened. He stilled beneath his sheets, and for a moment he wholeheartedly believed a supernatural entity to have entered his room. Then footsteps crept across his floorboards ended that delusion, and he rolled onto his back to find Robert standing at the foot of his bed, bathed in what little moonlight crept in over the fence separating their houses. 

Bill was too shocked to be appropriately angry about the intrusion. “W-what’re you d-doing here?” he asked. He didn’t move to get out of bed, too warm to even consider it.

Robert lifted a small green box into view. “It was your birthday today.”

Bill stared at the box, bemused. “So what?” he asked, forcing himself to look away. He’d received nothing from his father today, not so much as a ‘happy birthday’, so he didn’t particularly want to be reminded that he’d just turned fourteen. Not that the Losers’ well wishes hadn’t been appreciated, but some acknowledgement from his father would have been nice. “We’re n-not f-friends, remember? And you d-don’t give g-gifts to s-strangers.”

“I didn’t mean that,” said Robert, frowning. “I just didn’t want to be made fun of.”

“So you were f-f-fine with puh-p-pushing me aside as l-long as _you_ came out of it okay.” Bill scowled, folding his arms over his chest and hunching down over his knees. It had been several months since the incident, but he still felt angry and hurt when he thought of it.

“Really, Billy? You’re still angry?” His tone had turned exasperated. “I’m sorry, okay? I’ve just never had friends before.” Robert shifted from foot to foot restlessly. “This is the first year where I’ve made any. It’s weird. I don’t want them to think I’m a creep or scare them. I haven’t even shown them my skull collection- that’s how much I care.” Robert came around to the side of his bed, extending the package to him. Bill was feeling a little uneasy about what Robert might have gifted him after the mention of his ‘skull collection’ “Just take it. It’s from me and granny.”

Bill eyed the box. It _would_ be nice to receive a gift, no matter what it happened to be… he’d finally have something other than books that he could exhibit on his desk (he wasn’t able to put his portable television on there, since he was sure his father would take it if he did). And if it was a skull, maybe it would be something cool, like a shark skull.

“I t-t-thought I was y-your friend,” he mumbled, hurt.

“I mean at school. When I was in elementary school, I never had friends.” Robert pushed the gift into his lap. “We’re friends, okay? I never meant it when I said we weren’t.”

“You’ll n-never s-say it again, r-right?” Bill touched the small, purple ribbon wrapped around the circumference of the box. “Even in f-front of your f-friends,” he added, looking up at Robert to gauge his expression.

He was relieved when Robert didn’t pause before answering. “I’ll never do that again.” He seated himself on the edge of Bill’s mattress. He’d gained some muscle recently, and his body created a significant dip. “They might be my friends, but you’re my _best_ friend, Billy. My little buddy.”

Bill’s heart hammered in his chest. “You’re my b-best f-friend, too.”

Robert’s face was barely visible in the dark, but Bill thought he made out a smile. “Well, are you going to open it?”

“Hang on.” He wouldn’t be able to see what the gift was in the dark. Sliding out of bed and padding across the room, he slapped on his bedroom light. He made sure his door was fully closed before returning to the bed, little parcel still in hand. Robert had made himself comfortable in a corner by the time he returned.

Bill lay down back in the middle of his bed. Robert looped an arm around his shoulders.

“You’ll like it,” said Robert with a broad grin. “When I saw it, I knew I had to get it for you.”

“Have you b-been t-thinking about me a-all this time?” Bill asked as he unwrapped the gift.

“Yes.”

“Me too,” Bill admitted. “About you, I mean.” With the wrapping paper out of the way, he was able to lift the lid of the box and peer inside. Something small and shiny sat at the bottom, nestled in brightly coloured tissue paper. Bill plucked it out and held it under the light.

He’d never seen anything quite like it. It looked like a necklace, but the string didn’t end at the shiny red stone at the bottom, and instead extended beneath it. He liked it, just like Robert had suspected he would, but he didn’t know what to do with it.

“It’s a bolo tie,” Robert explained. “The stone is Fire Agate.” He took it from Bill’s hands and looped it around his neck, tucking it beneath the folds of his collar. He pulled the stone up until it was nestled against the first button of his shirt.

“Fh-fire Agate?” asked Bill.

“Protection,” said Robert simply.

Bill wished he had a mirror so he could see what he looked like. He would’ve used the bathroom mirror, but that was down the hall, and he didn’t want to leave Robert (and he certainly wasn’t going to ask Robert to accompany him to the bathroom. Only girls did that). He settled with stroking his fingers over it instead, enjoying the smoothness of the stone.

“Thanks.” He curled up next to Robert, resting his head upon his warm thighs. “Do you w-wanna stay h-here for a little w-while? We could p-play cards.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” said Robert, sweeping a hand through Bill’s hair. “We both need rest. School tomorrow.”

“Okay,” said Bill, reluctantly parting from Robert’s soft thighs. He placed his head on his pillow and found it cold.

Robert gave his hair one last stroke before he climbed back out the window.

* * *

With Robert now openly admitting their association, Bill’s High School life started to improve. However reluctantly, Robert’s friends accepted him into the group, allowing him to participate in games and conversation and protecting him from Bower’s gang. They extended this protection to the Losers, though Bill had found himself spending less and less time with them as the year progressed. Being unable to either stay at their houses or invite them to his own had taken a toll on the longevity of their relationship.

A few of Robert’s friends seemed surprised by how genuinely engaging and enjoyable his company could be. Privately, one of the less intellectually gifted of Robert’s group asked him for help with his English homework. Bill was happy to help.

After a while, Robert’s group was comfortable enough with his presence to invite him on outings. Generally, they only went to grab chips and candy from a store, but Bill knew that was solely for his benefit. When they weren’t hanging out, he would often see them smoking and drinking alcohol and smashing things with bats. Robert, he found out during one lunch, had the highest alcohol tolerance of them all and to date, hadn’t thrown up a single time they’d gone out drinking.

Bill started mowing lawns and doing odd-job around the neighbourhood during summers. He usually earned enough to buy him a few trinkets before school started, which he would bring in occasionally to show his friends, though none of them were terribly interested. He bought himself new shoes and a few shirts this way too. The nice kind, not the kind you got from op-shops for a dollar. He still dressed conservatively, in t-shirts and jean shorts, but now he had a few nicer articles of clothing to break up the monotony.

Robert regularly helped him earn money by joining him on his tasks, and he never asked for a cent in return. Bill usually bought him gifts as a covert means of repaying his help.

When Robert started counting down the days until the end of senior year, it occurred to Bill for the first time that Robert wouldn’t be in high school with him forever. He was sixteen now and Robert had recently turned eighteen. By Bill’s seventeenth birthday, Robert would be gone. It terrified him to think of Robert disappearing, though he knew logically that Robert would still be his next-door neighbour. Or at least, that was what he had believed until he saw a ‘for sale’ sign set up outside the Gray household one morning.

He stared at it for a very long time, unable or perhaps unwilling to believe what he was seeing. It couldn’t have been there long. It was shiny and new and bright yellow, the dirt around its legs loose. It must have been put up yesterday while Bill was sitting inside his own house, blissfully unaware.

The moment Robert stepped outside, he ran over to him so fast that he almost went barrelling into his chest. Fortunately, Robert was able to catch him by the shoulders before they collided.

“Morning, Billy boy. Wh-“

“You can’t leave!” Bill cried, unable to help himself. “Please d-don’t go, Robert!”

Robert retracted in shock. He glanced at the sign, neurons ticking along, and then back at Bill. “Derry’s _my_ town,” he said. “I’m not going to leave it.”

“Where are you g-going, then?” Bill asked. “Because t-there’s a s-sign out front. I know y-you’re leaving.”

“Granny wants us further in town, somewhere that isn’t falling apart,” Robert answered, rubbing soothing circles into Bill’s shoulders. “You’ll still be able to visit.”

“But I w-want you here,” Bill babbled, feeling more like a toddler than a sixteen-year-old boy.

“Geeze, clingy,” Robert said, laughing. “I won’t be far. I’ll even buy you a bus pass so you can visit me, if you don’t have enough for one.”

“But I want y-you here,” Bill said again, quieter this time, because he didn’t know how to properly articulate how desperately he needed Robert nearby. Robert had been his neighbour for a decade, and he hated change at the best of times, but this was especially intolerable.

Robert leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. It was something Bill had seen Miss Gray do many a time to Robert. “If I could take you with me, I would. I’d keep you in my room forever.”

“You can,” Bill insisted, tucking himself under Robert’s chin like they were children again, back in Robert’s room and lying side by side with Robert’s hand buried in his hair.

“I really wish I could, little buddy,” he said, his voice soft with longing. “But the police would just take you back home, and I don’t want you to deal with that. I know how much it sucks to have to deal with the pigs.”

“You could h-hide me,” Bill suggested.

Robert shook his head. “How would you attend school? What would we do if you wanted to go out?”

“We’ll f-figure s-something out- there h-has to be _something._ I’ll r-read books. I’ll look up t-the law.”

“Buddy…”

“Please, Robert. You’re g-going to leave me a-alone with my dad,” he said, and he immediately felt guilty for doing so. Robert winced and turned his face away, staring intently at nothing.

Bill slunk back, dropping his head in shame. What an awful thing to say to someone, let alone one’s best friend. It was no wonder Robert didn’t want Bill living with him.

“It’s n-not your f-fault. I’m just b-being dumb.” He found it impossible not to sniff as he spoke. Robert wouldn’t look at him, and now Bill was crying, and everything was horrible. He thought about not being able to jump the fence into Robert’s back yard on whim and shed his first few tears, not bothering to push them away, because what was the point. He’d already made a fool of himself. He might as well compound on it.

Robert bottom lip tremored and drew Bill back to his chest and coiled his arms around his torso tight enough to prevent him from wiggling away. “I’ll buy you a bus pass,” he told Bill, his voice soft and tremulous. His breath warmed the top of Bill’s head. “You can visit me whenever you want. Granny says we’ll have a spare bedroom at the new house, so you’ll even be able to sleep over on weekends.”

It did comfort Bill some that he wouldn’t be subjected to his father over weekends. He would hold onto that, use it to keep himself afloat in the trying times ahead. And he knew they would be trying. School had been difficult, if not impossible without Robert there, and it would return to that status when Robert was gone. He expected not being able to see Robert almost every day would be just as hard.

They were going to be late for the bus if they waited any longer, but Bill didn’t care. He needed to savour every private moment he had with Robert now. He didn’t expect they would have many in the future.

It wasn’t until a month later that their house was sold and Robert and Miss Gray moved deeper into the town, into a nice homely place wedged between the industrial part of town and a shopping district. According to Robert, it was a house formerly owned by the Gray’s, which had ensured Miss Gray received it for a good price. They had just enough money left over to live comfortably on for a while.

As promised, Robert bought him a bus pass and gave him the new address. Bill payed him back in pretty trinkets he found around town. School went on as usual, though now Bill he would speak wistfully of Robert and his friends would roll their eyes at him. Richie had told him twice now that he should just ‘marry Robert if he loved him so much’.

(Bill didn’t think that was a bad idea.)

Often he daydreamed about what he would do when he was old enough to leave home. The day he turned eighteen, he fully intended to pack what little he owned and leave to start his tertiary education. Maybe he would live with Robert, or maybe he would live near him, on a campus. Either way, they would be within walking distance of each other.

As the school year progressed, his day dreams started to take a turn into the realm of the fictitious. He didn’t just think about living near and with Robert; he thought about them lying in bed together with their legs tangled, their bodies warm and breathless and Robert’s hand carding through his hair, tucking it behind his ears and out of his eyes. He thought about how his lips had felt when they had touched his forehead, and how nice it was when Robert wrapped his arms around him. When he was feeling particularly adventurous, he would think of other, more explicit things, but he had nothing to use for reference in those thoughts, so it was generally just rubbing and fondling.

These, he knew, were fantasies supposed to be reserved for girls, and while there were plenty of girls he thought were very pretty and wouldn’t have minded kissing, he never found himself fantasizing about them the way he fantasized about Robert. He also knew it wasn’t right or normal to feel this way, especially not about a friend. He was a boy, and he knew Robert would never reciprocate the feelings he had, because Robert was a good, normal person who would – if he got his way – be the president one day, and Robert probably knew no one would elect a boy who liked other boys.

He still couldn’t stop his heart from fluttering whenever Robert touched him or looked at him in a way that could, in his adolescent mind, be interpreted as something other than friendliness. When Robert let him hold his hand, despite the fact they were much too old to be doing so, he was the happiest boy in the world.

After a while, he started to wonder why Robert had never had a girlfriend. While Robert wasn’t the most popular people, with most people regarding him as ‘creepy’, there were girls in their group, and one of them was moderately nice to look at with her long lashes and green eyes. If Robert had asked her out, he was sure she would have said yes. She had dated two of the other boys in their social group by that point, so Robert was the natural progression. But he never made a move, and neither did she. 

He didn’t dare ask Robert if there were any girls he liked. He was afraid of the answer he’d receive. Besides, Robert was probably just busy. With school coming to a close in a scant few months, Robert had to prepare for his end of year exams. And he noticed Robert had developed something of a social life outside of school, too, because a few times when he visited the new Gray household, Miss Gray told him Robert was out with work friends.

Whatever work Robert was doing, it became increasingly more demanding as the year progressed. Robert just barely managed to scrape through his exams with how fatigued he was. On graduation day, which was on his birthday, coincidentally, Robert was so tired by the end of the celebrations that he ended up falling asleep on Bill’s shoulder in the back of the taxi. Bill’s heart had thumped wildly in his chest as Robert’s breath rolled of his cheek and his soft ginger hair tickled his neck. While Robert was dozing, he grazed his fingers over his knuckles and imagined they were a couple heading home after prom, an event neither of them had attended.

“Have you been going into town to see that weird kid?” asked his dad one day, which surprised Bill, because his father scarcely said anything to him.

He would have lied, but he was a bad liar, and it sounded as though his father had spotted him sneaking out the house with his bus pass.

“He’s not weird,” he replied, reaching into their refrigerator for yesterday’s leftovers. He’d cooked spaghetti, the majority of which his father had eaten. There was just enough left over to fill Bill for tonight, as long as he supplemented it with some bread.

“He looks ridiculous, like a clown, and there’s some odd stories going around about him.”

Bill’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything.

“He’s a criminal too. You know that? Say what you want about your dad, but at least I work for a living.”

“Robert w-works too,” he snapped, shoving his plate into the microwave with unnecessary force. He ended up denting the back of it.

His father snorted, ashing his cigarette on the kitchen table. “Does he, now? What as?”

“It’s – well, it’s a legitimate job.” He set the timer for three minutes. Five was probably needed, but he wanted to get out of his father’s vicinity as soon as possible.

“How would you know? He hasn’t even told you what it is. Why do you think that is?”

“He’s b-been busy,” he said, but it sounded feeble even to his own ears. There had been plenty of opportunities for Robert to divulge his profession, and he hadn’t. He did, in retrospect, work rather odd hours, usually late nights and the early hours of the morning.

“Yeah, busy peddling drugs like a lowlife, probably,” said his father, reaching for a fresh cigarette.

Bill watched the timer slowly turn from two minutes, to one. He curled his hands into fists and took a deep, calming breath, not wanting to provoke his father into a physical altercation. He always came out worse for wear from those.

“I should’ve never let you go to the local high school.” He didn’t look at his father, but he could hear him sighing and shaking his head. “Bet that boy would’ve forgotten about you if you hadn’t started attending that cesspool.”

“You’re l-legally o-obligated to let me go to h-high school,” Bill muttered.

“You know what I meant,” his father shot back, growing angry. “Don’t get snide with me, Bill.”

“I’m not b-being snide.”

Less than one minute.

“Oh, yes you are,” said his father accusingly. He could almost feel him wagging a finger in disapproval. “You’re always acting so high and mighty, like you’re better than me. If you don’t respect me, why don’t you run off to your _mother_?” He scoffed. “I hear she got married again, had another child. Guess you and Georgie weren’t good enough for her.”

Bill wanted desperately to tell him he _was_ better, that he would _never_ be a drunkard with a failed marriage, but he bit his lip instead, forcing himself to remain silent. His food only had twenty seconds left, then he could leave and forget this conversation had ever happened. If he was lucky, he could forget his father existed for a while.

“Answer me when I’m talking to you!” his father bellowed, and Bill jumped.

Twenty seconds was too long. He had to leave _now_.

Abandoning his spaghetti, Bill sped for the hallway, aiming to reach his room. He’d grab his bag, pack a few things. Spend the night at Robert’s place. When he came home, his father likely would have cooled down enough to be tolerable.

He heard footsteps thumping up the hallway as reached his door. Leaping inside, he quickly shoved his chair up under the handle and retrieved his schoolbag from under the bed, filling it with a fresh set of clothes, his homework, and anything else he would need for an overnight stay. Hopefully Miss Gray wouldn’t mind providing toiletries. She usually didn’t.

His father started thumping at the door while he was pulling on his socks and loafers. He would’ve liked to take his sneakers, but those were sitting in the shoe rack by the door.

By the time his father had managed to smash through his line of defence, sending the chair sprawling to the floor, Bill already had a leg out his window. He took one look at his father’s cherry-red, heavily veined face and leapt outside, pounding his way down the side of the house and towards liberation. It hurt his chest to run so fast, but he didn’t want to linger long enough for his father to reach the front door and start chasing him. Granted, that would be more physically exerting than anything else he’d done in over a decade.

Bill was fortunate enough to only have to wait twenty minutes before a bus arrived to take him into town. He scanned his bus card and took a seat at the very back of the vehicle, in a far corner, staring out the window with his backpack sitting on his thighs. This didn’t dissuade people from sitting near him, and he ended up having to cover his nose for the latter part of the trip as an incredibly odious man sat down next to him. Why he did, Bill didn’t know, because there were plenty of other unoccupied seats to choose from.

Whatever fabric was used on these bus chairs, it was itchy. He scratched his arms irritably in an attempt to soothe the itch and only succeeded in aggravating his skin. Worse yet, it was knock-off time for most people, and that meant dozens of drowsy white-collar labourers piling onto the bus at every stop, of which there were many. It was well past dinner time before Bill arrived at his stop.

He hauled himself and his bag out of his seat and stepped out onto pavement with his arms stretched high in the air, a yawn catching in his throat. When he got to Robert’s house, perhaps they could sit on his bed and reading quietly for a while, just enjoying each other’s company. He wasn’t in the mood for anything physically, emotionally, or intellectually strenuous. Homework could wait until tomorrow. 

He came to the Gray household and used their brass knocker to give three hard knocks. No one answered. Peering in through a window, he saw no lights on, nor any other signs of activity. Bill tried knocking again regardless, and sat down heavily on the step when no one came to the door.

 _Now what_ , he wondered, stretching his legs out over Robert’s stoop and holding his bag to his chest. He couldn’t go home, that was for certain, and he didn’t dare wander the city for fear he would end up lost. He didn’t visit the city enough to be comfortable navigating his way around. He would have tried to nap, but he didn’t like the odds of some creep touching him or stealing his things while he was sleeping.

He spotted a phone booth on the opposite side of the street while idly looking around and leapt to his feet, fishing around his pocket for some coins. He’d phone one of Robert’s friends. They ought to know where he was.

Upon reaching the booth, he thumbed a few dimes into the coin slot and held the receiver to his hear, listening to its shrill ring. Once… twice… Robert’s friend picked up before the third trill could finish.

“Hello?”

“Victor, i-its Bill.”

“Yeah, the stutter kinda gave it away. Never gotten a call from you before.”

Bill nestled the phone between his ear and shoulder, shoving what coins he had left back into his pocket.

“I was just w-wondering where R-Robert was. He and mom- I mean, h-his g-granny aren’t at his house.”

“Oh, they went out for dinner.”

“W-where to?” he asked.

“Some place called ‘The Admiral's Arms’. Why? You in trouble or something?”

“Everything’s f-fine,” he lied. “I just w-wanted to s-spend some time with him.”

“He’ll probably be home after a few hours. His granny likes to do karaoke when they go out, apparently. She's kinda strange.”

A few hours. Bill audibly groaned.

“Uh, kid… if you want someone to stay until he gets back, you can crash on my couch a while. Henry ain’t here, so whatever. I won’t mind.”

Bill hesitated before he replied. He’d never been to any of the other kids’ houses before, though they seemed to like him well enough. They probably didn’t relish the thought of hanging out with someone who was two years their junior. “How f-far do you live?” he asked.

“A few streets away. I live in the apartment complex on Jackson.”

“Okay, erm… what s-streets do I go down?”

In painstaking detail, Victor relayed the route to his house three times so Bill could memorize it, then proceeded to hang up the phone. Bill made quick work of the journey, keeping his head down and his shoulders hunched. For some, exploring Derry City would have been exciting. For Bill, who didn’t enjoy being thrust into unfamiliar territory so late at night, it was distressing. On the final street, he saw an old, gangly, twitching man approaching from the far end of the footpath and ended up bolting the rest of the way to the apartment complex, his lungs burning in protest as he shouldered his way through the double doors and entered the elevator. He was still panting when he reached Victor’s floor. He took a moment to catch his breath before he knocked on his door.

It swung open, and Victor greeted him with a broad smile. “Hey, kid. Come on in.” He flourished an arm toward a rather modest looking apartment, one with standard beige wallpaper and an ever-present stench of pizza and alcohol. Bill took a few tentative steps inside. The place looked accommodating enough, though he vastly preferred the Gray residence to a dingy apartment.

Victor ruffled his hair before closing the door. The moment he turned away, Bill tried to neaten it.

“You can hang out on my couch,” said Victor, pointing him into the lounge room. “I’m gonna shower and order a pizza. Watch anything you want, in the meantime.”

“Thank you.”

He managed to avoid an additional ruffle of his hair by darting past Victor and into the lounge room.

“Oh, and if you get peckish, there’s pringles on the kitchen counter!” Victor called from the other side of the house.

Having skipped dinner, Bill was peckish enough to make a detour to the kitchen for that packet of pringles before seating himself on the lounge room couch. It was a small, heavily worn thing, but comfortable enough if one distributed their weight over two cushions. Bill quietly ate his pringles without bothering to change the channel on the telly. There was little worth watching at this time of night, anyway.

He ate through the entire pringle packet in under a minute. Setting the empty packet aside, he curled up on the cushions with his backpack in his arms and made himself comfortable, closing his eyes and listening to the drone of the television. It was an episode of M.A.S.H, he recognized the voices. Hawkeye was getting into trouble, as per usual…

There was no light when he opened his eyes next, and nor was he on the couch. A warm, solid presence pressed to his shoulder and he blearily surveyed his surroundings, realizing he was in someone’s arms.

“Did you sleep alright, little buddy?”

Bill sleepily sought the source of the voice. Robert was in the process of carrying him across the street, to a waiting taxi.

“What’s the t-time?” he asked, shifting as Robert slid him into the back seat of the vehicle.

“Eight thirty,” said Robert, joining him. “You want to stay the night, I’m guessing?”

“If t-that’s okay,” he confirmed. He yawned and coiled deeper into Robert’s arm. His strong grip reassured Bill that he was safe, that he didn’t have to worry about his father here. He hoped his father had broken into the brandy. Maybe he’d hit his head on something when he inevitably passed out from overindulgence.

“Somethin’ go down at home?” asked Robert. His fingers probed for injuries and Bill wiggled beneath them.

“Dad j-just got angry w-with me,” said Bill. “The usual.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“I didn’t g-give him the o-opportunity.”

“Good.” Robert’s fingers withdrew. Bill immediately started to miss their presence. “What did he get angry at you for this time? Leaving a dish in the sink? Did he delude himself into thinking you’d broken into his alcohol cabinet again?”

“For d-defending you, actually.” Bill scowled. “He c-called you a crook.”

Robert was silent for a moment.

“Would you still like me if I was one?” he asked, and Bill peered up at him, silent in his curiosity. He watched Robert give a nervous lick of his lips. “Would you still like me?” he asked again, insistent.

“I’ll a-always like you,” said Bill.

Robert sunk further into his seat. He smiled, all teeth. “Good.”


	3. Merry Christmas and a (Happy) New Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: there's explicit child abuse this chapter! It's overall a happy-ish one, though.

Robert provided details on what exactly he did for a living over the following week. Not enough for Bill to decipher _exactly_ what it was, but enough that Bill knew it definitely wasn’t legal. He divulged bits and pieces about guns and drugs, about acting as an advisor to someone and vying for the position of successor. All very vague and confusing. Apparently Robert took regular trips to New York to fulfil certain work obligations, which came as a surprise to Bill. It was no wonder Robert was so often exhausted and absent. That was a lengthy commute.

He found, despite his father’s words, that the illegality of Robert’s work didn’t bother him a great deal (he was sure Robert wouldn’t involve himself in anything too illicit); it was Robert’s safety that kept him awake at night, tossing and turning at the thought of Robert being incarcerated or hurt. Robert had assured him repeatedly that he could protect himself, that he had been doing so for several months now, but Bill couldn’t help but worry.

“How about this,” he said one day, during one of his attempts to console a distraught Bill. “In three years, _I’ll_ be the boss. I’m already the boss’ right hand man, so I’m half way there.”

“Three y-years is a long time,” murmured Bill. He’d be well out of high school by that point and perhaps living with Robert, though he had yet to broach the topic of Bill moving in with him. He figured it could wait until he was old enough to leave home.

“It may not even take _that_ long.” Robert’s mouth curved into a sharp smile. “Don’t worry about it, little buddy. I’m capable of looking after myself.”

He had to take that assurance with a grain of salt, seeing as Robert had spent the first eighteen years of his life getting into fights that he regularly lost.

In another attempt to reassure him, Robert went so far as to show him his guns. He only had two, but that was more than Bill had ever owned, or could ever hope to own, and he found them impressive. He asked if Robert could show him how to fire one, and Robert had told him he would give him lessons when he was done with high school. Bill trusted Robert’s judgement enough not to argue.

Bill started his senior year in late August. It was an easier year for him to navigate, he found, as a flourishing social life declined in importance with each barrage of homework they received. It was intelligence that his peers started to care about, now. A surprising majority prioritized getting good grades. It seemed many former class clowns and bullies were suddenly realizing the importance of an education.

The end of the school year steadily approached. In previous years, Bill had hopped the fence to spend Christmas at the Gray household. This year, he decided he would spend a week at the Gray household instead of merely attending the traditional lunch and dinner. His father would probably complain, accuse him of being a horrible, selfish child who didn’t deserve the roof over his head, but his father didn’t know Robert’s new address and wouldn’t be able to call the police on him to have him dragged back home for a tense family dinner of whatever his father managed to scrounge up from the fridge. In earlier years, he’d attempted to prepare a roast with all the trimmings, to celebrate the day like a normal family. That had fallen out of fashion as Bill had gotten older. He supposed what little affection his father had for him had been steadily quashed by Bill’s insubordination. 

He didn’t tell his dad what he was doing or where he was going before he left. Utilizing what limited brain matter had survived his father’s excessive drinking, Bill was sure he’d be able to figure it out.

To avoid finding himself stranded again, Bill made sure to plan the week beforehand with Robert’s input (which mostly consisted of Robert telling Bill to wear a thick winter’s coat and offering to buy him a new coat if he didn’t have a sufficiently warm one). Robert was waiting for him when he hopped off the bus. The first thing he did was push a styrofoam cup of hot chocolate into his hands.

“Don’t drink it yet,” said Robert, sliding an arm around his shoulders to guide him down the street. Bill had experienced a growth spurt a few months back, so he was at the height of Robert’s chin, now. “It’s hot. I just bought it.”

“Thanks.” Bill blew at the steam squeezing out of the hole in the lid.

There was enough snow covering the footpath to make the journey back to Robert’s place a slow one. Bill’s nose was rosy pink by the time they arrived, and he sniffled and hunched over his now tepid cup of hot chocolate as they entered.

The inviting aroma of baked goods had Bill forgetting his chill. He breathed in deep, identifying the smell as gingerbread. He loved gingerbread. Or at least, he loved it until he’d shovelled four into his gullet and started to feel ill from the overabundance of sugar. He rarely ever got to eat such treats at home. His dad didn’t like to spend too much money on frivolities.

Miss Gray shoved several freshly cooked gingerbread Christmas trees into his free hand the moment he stepped into view. He wrapped two of them in tissues and slid them into the depths of his pocket for later consumption.

For dinner, they had the best spaghetti Bill had ever tasted and a roll of garlic bread. Bill complimented Miss Gray’s cooking multiple times before he and Robert retired to Robert’s bedroom. The sun had long since descended beyond the skyline and Robert only put on a lamp for light. He invited Bill to sit on his bed, and they played card games and chatted until late into the night. They finished off Bill’s remaining cookies as they played.

Robert set up a mattress for him on the floor. He’d been doing that for some time now. He was, according to Robert, ‘too old and too big to share a bed with’ (and some other muttered things that he didn’t quite catch). Bill reluctantly agreed, not wanting to make a fuss over sleeping arrangements.

Late that night, Bill woke up shivering. His fingers ached from the cold and his breath misted as he exhaled. He tugged the quilt higher over his shoulder and tucked his face close to his knees, breathing warm air onto his trembling thighs, but he was still cold. The early morning chill seemed impossible to chase away. The sky was still pitch black when he peered out the window to check.

Rising to a kneel, he noticed Robert sleeping peacefully in his bed. He had the same number of quits Bill had, and yet he seemed warmer. Bill wrapped his modest bedding around his shoulders and shuffled closer, as though close proximity would enable him to catch some of the warmth from Robert’s bedding.

In the slight illumination provided from a streetlight beyond Robert’s window, he could see Robert’s lashes on his cheeks and his pale pink lips parted enough to unveil a sliver of teeth. His messy ginger hair seemed warm and soft under the gentle light. Everything about him looked cosy and inviting and Bill swallowed, moving even closer, sliding an arm onto Robert’s mattress. A moment of contemplation was all he needed before he decided to evacuate his own quilt to sit on the edge of Robert’s bed.

Robert’s eyes snapped open the moment his weight began to dip the mattress. “Buddy?” he asked sleepily.

Bill started to shiver violently. “I’m cold.”

“Ah.” To Bill’s surprise, Robert didn’t need to be prompted before he lifted the sheets to invite Bill inside. Bill slid into place next to him, curling against his chest. Slowly, his shivering started to wane, and his fingers regained their pinkish hue. Despite how pale Robert was, his skin could be wonderfully hot sometimes.

“Do you know what time it is?” asked Robert, clearly still in a languid daze.

“T-there’s no l-light yet.”

“It’s usually like that until at least six thirty, sometimes later.”

Bill tilted his head back enough to look Robert in the face. “Are you usually working around this time?” he asked.

“Sometimes. I try to get home before morning to grab some sleep.”

Their mouths were very close, Bill noticed. Perspiration developed on Bill’s lips from Robert’s breath.

“Are you- are you dating a-anyone at work?” he asked, trying to sound impassive. His pulse began to race in anticipation of Robert’s reply. He hoped, desperately, that he wouldn’t answer with an affirmative.

“Nah,” said Robert.

Bill relaxed for all of a second before remembering that not dating didn’t rule out the possibility of Robert having a crush. He didn’t sound quite as impassive this time. “Do you l-like any g-girls? R-romantically, I mean.”

“From work? Nah.” Bill had to bite back a sigh of relief. “Actually,” continued Robert, pausing between words. “I don’t think I like _any_ girls.”

Bill didn’t dare hope that meant what he wanted it to mean. “Me n-neither. Not like t-that, I mean. They’re pretty, especially B-Beverly, but…”

Robert smiled in a way that had Bill’s heart skipping a beat. He always liked the way Robert smiled, liked the dimples that appeared on either side of his face when he did. It made Bill want to cup his face in his hands to feel them on his palms. He stared at his lips, and he knew they must have been as soft and warm as the rest of Robert.

Entirely on a whim, he leaned forward and kissed him. It was a chaste press of lips that ended the second Bill’s mind caught up with what he was doing. The moment he registered the growing frown on Robert’s face, he tried to vacate the bed in a panic, horrified that he’d assumed wrong, that he’d compromised their friendship, but before he could get far, Robert dragged him back down and kept him still with a firm grip around his shoulders.

“Don’t run off, little buddy. I’m not angry.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, regardless. “If I c-crossed a line, I-” Robert interrupted him before he could finish.

“I don’t have ‘a line’. If you want to kiss, just ask.”

Bill’s breath caught in his throat. “Really?”

Robert shrugged. “When you’re done with school, I mean.”

“Why d-does th-t-that matter?”

Robert seemed to choose his words carefully. “You don’t need the distraction, and neither do I.”

“There’s plenty of s-seniors with ruh-r-r-relationships,” argued Bill. His mortification at having initiated a kiss had been briefly forgotten. “P-p-practically all the g-girls in my y-year are sl-s-sleeping with someone.”

“Gross.”

“Was it b-bad?” he asked, suddenly worried. “Is that w-why you d-don’t want to?”

“What? No.” Robert laughed. He descended to Bill’s hair, pressing a cheek to it. “But if we start something now, I won’t want to let you go. I won’t be able to.” There was something dangerous in the way he spoke, and Bill shivered. “You can wait for me, can’t you, little buddy?” he asked sweetly.

Bill still thought there was no need to wait, but he nodded anyway.

It wouldn’t be so bad to wait… assuming Robert’s feelings didn’t wane over time, that was, and he didn’t find someone else. A girl, maybe, if he was at all interested in girls. The possibility frightened Bill, so he banished it from mind, moving to tangle his legs with Robert’s. He was relieved when Robert didn’t try to push him away.

The rest of the week passed with the usual amount of revelry one could expect from the Gray household on the week before Christmas. Miss Gray valued the familial meaning behind Christmas and sought to make every day memorable. When the day arrived, every room in the house had been enriched with tinsel and colourful tissue paper; it ran up the stair banisters and into the bedrooms, surrounded the doorframes and twinkled around every window. The lounge room was the most heavily decorated of them all, swathed in colour from top to bottom with a Christmas tree in the corner so tall it nearly touched the ceiling. It was covered in baubles, tinsel, ceramic figurines, candy canes, and on the top sat a beautiful glass angel. There were even balloons, bright red ones that looked about ready to pop. While all these decorations looked worn from years of use, it made them no less beautiful.

They arrived downstairs to still-warm packages of banana bread and a glass of eggnog. They took their food and drink over to the tree and sat down before it for the traditional present opening.

Robert had bought Bill several books and a red scarf. Miss Gray’s package contained a handmade sweater, a tin of fudge, and some warm winter gloves that were also red. He thanked them and thumbed through one of his books while Robert and Miss Gray opened their own presents.

For Miss Gray, Bill had bought a packet of assorted shortbread and a thick, shimmering shawl he’d seen in a shop window some months prior; she put it on immediately and gushed at his generosity. Robert’s gift from Bill was last to be opened. He ripped through the plain blue wrapping paper concealing his gift and withdrew a camera. He would have liked to buy Robert more, but the camera had costed Bill his every last penny.

“You got me a camera?” asked Robert, turning it over in his hands to peel off the lens cap.

“You d-don’t have a-any photos of me a-around,” Bill said. He was starting to feel embarrassed over his justification for buying it. “Not that… not that y-you have to take p-photos of me. It’s your camera.”

Robert snorted. “Of course I’m going to take photos of you!” He turned to his grandmother. “Granny, sit next to Billy! This deserves commemoration.”

Robert didn’t need to say ‘cheese’ to get Bill to grin.

* * *

Bill ended up staying longer than anticipated. Only when the New Year arrived did he hop on the bus to return home, his backpack now brimming with gifts and food wrapped in alfoil. He didn’t even mind that he ended up having to occupy a seat with an old lady carrying a potted plant that had clearly had manure sprinkled on it.

He kicked through the snow on his way to the door, humming a foreign Christmas jingle Miss Gray had taught him as he hopped up the front steps. He grabbed the key his father kept hidden under brick and used it to let himself inside.

As he closed the door, he heard the hiss of his father evacuating his chair and footsteps pounding up the hallway, and he quickly sought to pull it back open. He didn’t quite manage to slip out before his father caught up to him, catching him by the collar of his jacket and hauling him back inside. His backpack flew off of his shoulder and he hit the floorboards with a loud thump.

Before he could attempt to rise, his father was hunching over him, holding him down with a forearm across his chest. “Two weeks,” his father slurred, sending spittle flying. His breath smelt of whiskey. He must’ve spent New Year’s drinking himself silly. “Two weeks you were gone. It’s a wonder you bothered coming back here at all!”

Bill winced and drew as far back as his father’s grip allowed, throwing an arm across his face in fear of the encounter escalating. “Then l-let me go! I’ll go if y-you want m-me to!”

“Let me guess, ‘you don’t want to be here anyway’?” His father scoffed. “I spent seventeen years feeding you and putting a roof over your head, and not once have you shown me gratitude!”

“I’m grateful!” Bill cried, trying to placate his father. His grip was getting tighter, weight being pressed upon his ribcage. His clavicle creaked beneath his meaty fist.

“No you’re not! If you were, you wouldn’t leave without a word a week before Christmas! You’d celebrate with your dad! _Georgie_ would have celebrated with me!”

When Bill saw his father raise a fist, he tried to curl in on himself, shield his most vulnerable areas. His father gave him a shake to prevent him from protecting himself and proceeded to punch him in the stomach, driving a cry out of him and a series of hard, hacking coughs. He didn’t feel the next hit, still trying to endure the aftermaths of the first one.

His father started to yell, and he only caught snatches of his slurred words, too busy trying to squirm out of harm’s way to register full sentences. “–What sort of son does this to their own –“ Thud. “–No wonder your mother left–“ Thud. “–Your fault Georgie’s dead–“

His nose crunched beneath his father’s knuckles and he rolled onto his stomach, blood pouring down his face and dripping off his chin in a great rivulet. He coughed and tried to draw in a breath through his clogged nostrils, but only drew in blood, prompting more coughing. His father finally stopped hitting, then, and clambered off of him, wiping sweat off his brow and his sullied knuckles on his worn slacks. He appeared torn by the sight of Bill bleeding upon the floorboards, and then his expression hardened.

“Pack your things.”

“Wh-what?” Bill stuttered, barely intelligible.

His father seized him by the forearm and tossed him a little ways down the hall, in the direction of his bedroom. He landed on his elbows hard enough for the crack of bone hitting wood to reverberate through his entire body.

“Pack your things and get out my house!” his father bellowed. “You don’t live here anymore!”

“Dad-“ he began, whimpering, but his father kicked at his legs in response and he coiled into a little ball, trembling hard.

“You don’t want to be here? Then get out.”

Through the gap between his shaking knees, he watched his father turn and step out of view, disappearing into the lounge room. A moment later, the settee squealed beneath his weight. Bill heard the television steadily increase in volume, drowning out Bill’s soft, involuntary moans of pain.

It took all his will-power to drag himself onto his knees and retrieve his backpack, dragging it across to his bedroom. He wouldn’t be able to squeeze anything else inside, so he hobbled into the kitchen and grabbed a garbage bag, and stuffed his merger belongings into it. His face throbbed and burned while he worked. His nose continued to drip steadily and his left eye started to bruise shut. His hands were shaking so badly that he dropped the bag several times while trying to push items inside. Fortunately there wasn’t much to collect, just some clothes and some knickknacks he’d collected over the years, as well as all the gifts he’d received from the Gray’s.

A year prior, he’d begged Robert to let him live with him. One of the reasons Robert had refused had been his father’s insistence on dragging Bill back every time he fled. Bill felt oddly despondent at the thought his father would never again pursue him. He wanted to live with Robert, and had for a long time, and now he’d be able to be emancipated from his father and do exactly that, but he wished his father had given the slightest indication that he loved and cared about Bill, even just a little bit.

His father said nothing as he trudged down the hallway with his backpack over a shoulder and his garbage bag full of his meagre belongings dragging on the floor. There was silence as he opened the door and stepped outside, and silence as he descended the steps and headed for the bus stop. He didn’t look back. He was sure his father didn’t even spare him a glance.

On the bus, Bill tried to clean his face of blood with a handful of tissues a boy around his age shoved into his palm. Questions were asked, but he refused to answer them, simply telling them he’d had an accident while packing his belongings for an extended stay at a friend’s house in a soft, stilted manner that must have made it obvious he was lying. After deflecting their questions for long enough, they eventually stopped. He hunched down low in his seat to make sure he would be left alone for the rest of the journey.

When he arrived at the Gray household, he didn’t care that he might be intruding; he had nowhere else to go, and he knew he wouldn’t survive the night if he slept on the streets. The snow was too thick and the winds too cold. He’d end up with hypothermia and likely wouldn’t live to see the sunrise.  

It was Miss Gray who came to the door. She gasped upon seeing him. “Oh my.” Throwing open the door, she coiled an arm around his waist and led him inside, shutting the door behind her with her heel. “Oh dear, oh my,” she babbled. “Did those bullies come for you again? Oh, they’re so terrible!”

Bill didn’t say anything, but allowed Miss Gray to lead him up the stairs and into the bathroom. She sat him on the edge of the tub. The first aid kit she withdrew from the cabinet looked to have been accessed multiple times, and Bill had no doubts that Robert had come home bloodied and bruised after a confrontation at school on more than one occasion.

With the kit spread out on her lap, she began to clean and disinfect Bill’s wounds, then applied a thick layer of soothing cream. She murmured in sympathy all the while, periodically running a hand through his hair and cupping his chin. Bill couldn’t help but smile, though it hurt his mouth to do so.

“So much damage,” she murmured, pressing a sticky bandage over his swollen and bruised nose. “I’ll bring you ice. You can lie down in Robert’s room.”

“Thank you,” said Bill, sniffing and threading his fingers in his lap. With the application of the cream, the pain of his injuries was steadily diminishing to a hot throb.

“I’ll bring up some aspirin, too.” She withdrew and brushed sullied handtowels into the tub. “Is there anything else you need?” she asked.

Bill shook his head. Slowly, because he didn’t want to jostle his bandages.

She helped him up from the tub (thought he didn’t really need it) and guided him to Robert’s bedroom, where he laid down on the bed, pulling the quilts over himself.

“W-where’s Robert?” he asked, before Miss Gray could leave.

“Out on business,” she answered, smiling over her shoulder. “He’ll be back soon,” she added, and then left the room.

Bill swallowed the two aspirin she returned with and placed the baggie of ice she offered against his throbbing nose. He didn’t keep the ice there long, cold as he was, and left it on the bedside table to melt while he tried for some rest. He wasn’t feeling particularly tired. For the most part, he just lay there and mulled over what he would do when Robert returned, what he would say, and he only briefly considered the possibility the Gray’s might not be able to support him, and perhaps might not want him to stay with them as a consequence. He didn’t want to think about that, not when he didn’t have anywhere else to go.

He idly scratched the bridge of his nose, which had begun to itch beneath its bandaging. He couldn’t help but notice how nice Robert’s bedsheets smelt. It’d been quite some time since he’d been in it alone. Aftershave, a general musk… his face burned when he considered the possibility Robert had masturbated where he now was lying.

He almost leapt up upon feeling a hand on his shoulder.

“Billy?”

He rolled over, slowly, and smiled up at Robert. All his troubles vanished at the sight of him.

“Robert.” He reached up to pull him down.

Robert let himself be grabbed. “Geeze, Billy,” he murmured, sliding a knee onto the bed and stretching at Bill’s side. He lightly touched the puffy blue skin surrounding Bill’s left eye. “Granny said you got jumped by some bullies. Who were they? Give me some names and I’ll deal with them. I’ll break their teeth.”

Bill ducked his head in shame. “It w-wasn’t bullies.”

“Who, then- muggers?” Robert paused. “Was it your dad? Did he do this?”

“I can’t go b-back to the h-house,” said Bill quietly. “He k-kicked me out.”

Robert’s breathing quickened and his muscles went completely rigid. Bill could hear Robert’s heart thundering against his ribcage. “He’s going to die.”

“What- no!” Bill exclaimed, shooting upright fast enough to dislodge Robert’s grip. He grasped Robert by the forearms, holding him down. He knew Robert wouldn’t rise for fear of hurting him further. “You can’t k-kill him,” he pleaded. “You’ll go to p-prison!”

“I have connections,” said Robert in a snarl. “I’ll kill him and no one’ll ever know.”

“I won’t be able to be e-emancipated if y-you do that! They’ll p-put me in the s-system!”

“Look at what he did to you!” Robert shot back. “He’s been tormenting you for years! He needs to die!”

Bill lowered his forehead to Robert’s heaving chest. “Please,” he babbled. “Please d-don’t do it, _please_ , I’ll never stop being s-scared you’ll be f-found out, and I’m such a b-bad liar, Robert.” Gradually, Robert’s tense muscles began to unwind. “Please, Robert,” he continued. “Please don’t.”

A sigh whistled past Robert’s clenched teeth. “I _will_ be paying him a visit. You can’t stop me from doing that.”

“But you w-won’t kill him?”

With clear reluctance, Robert answered. “No, I won’t.”

Bill was so relieved he almost collapsed on top of him. He managed to prevent himself from going completely boneless, instead returning to his position at Robert’s side. Robert held him close, a little too tight for comfort, but Bill didn’t complain.

He burrowed into Robert’s arms, tucking his head under Robert’s chin, like he always did. Robert stroked a warm palm down to the small of his back. “Robert…”

“Mmm?”

“I can s-stay here, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean…” He swallowed nervously. “I can s-stay here as m-more than just a guest, right?”

“Yeah,” said Robert again.

“I’ll – I’ll try to get a j-job. I won’t be a fi-f-financial burden, I promise.”

“You aren’t going to be any kind of burden,” Robert assured him. “I would never think of you like that, little buddy.”

“But I know s-supporting another p-person won’t be easy,” murmured Bill, and he thought of Miss Gray scrimping and saving for Christmas as he did. He didn’t want to make things even harder on the Gray’s. As soon as his face was presentable, he’d start putting out applications and attending interviews; there were plenty of fast food joints looking for students to employ on a temporary basis.

“I work,” said Robert. “You won’t have to worry about money.”

Bill doubted that. On top of living costs, he still needed to figure out how he’d pay his way through university, or perhaps start thinking about working towards a scholarship. A good education was the only way to claw himself above the poverty line. No matter what happened, he wouldn’t give up on it.

Robert began to hum a foreign tune. That in combination with the slow stroking along his back and the mental exhaustion of being evicted from one’s home lulled Bill towards slumber. 

His next conscious thoughts were a slurry of disjointed complaints about the various aches throbbing along the expanse of his body. These thoughts were shortly followed by him remembering what his father had done, and what Robert had promised to do in retaliation.

Sheets went flying when he realized Robert wasn’t with him. He stumbled out of bed, ignoring his pains in favour of hobbling into the hallway and down the stairs. He only got halfway before he heard the hiss of running water. A peek downstairs unveiled Miss Gray in the kitchen, drinking a steaming cup of tea. Bill quickly hopped back up the steps and hurried for the bathroom.

“Robert, did you-!” Slamming open the door, his inquiry died on his lips when he spotted Robert standing buck naked in the shower. It took his frazzled mind a moment to inform him that it was perfectly normal for someone to be standing in a shower naked.

Robert gaped at him. Bill gaped back, then recovered enough motor function to slam the door shut.

Not long after, the hiss of the water stopped and Bill heard a towel being yanked off the rack. Bill’s face remained bright red as Robert pushed open the door to peer out at him.

“Is everything okay?”

Bill nodded, completely silent.

“Hey Billy…” Robert stepped out, hand fisted around the front of his towel. Steam billowed out from the bathroom. Bill couldn’t bring himself to do anything but stare down at his feet. “Did you see anything?”

Bill made a faint choking sound. “N-no.”

“…You did…” Bill could see Robert’s mouth twisting into a grin in his peripheral vision.

Bill kicked his feet. “You… you look nice,” he offered, awkwardly.

Robert laughed. “Thanks.”

“Can you k-kiss me?” Bill blurted out, then immediately covered his face with his hands. Idiot. Idiot. He was such an idiot. He’d come here with a purpose and now all he could think about was making out with Robert. God, he hated being a teenager. He hated hormones.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea with your face as it is.”

“Forget it. I didn’t say that,” he mumbled, as though saying this would be enough to rend his earlier exclamation from Robert’s mind.

He heard another laugh, then felt a wet press of lips against his forehead. Not exactly what he’d had in mind, but he was too relieved Robert wasn’t trying to scold him for being ‘too forward’ with his flirting (or what passed as flirting for Bill) to be disappointed. He wiped the moisture from his skin and forced forth a lopsided smile.

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” said Robert, disappearing back into the bathroom. “Go wait in the bedroom, little buddy. I’ll be there once I’m dressed.”

Bill tried not to despair over the fact his first thought was ‘you don’t have to get dressed’ as he pushed off the wall to do as Robert instructed. Once back in the bedroom, he sat himself on the bed with the quilt draped over his shoulders. It didn’t take Robert long to join him, now dressed in a thick red jacket with a fur hood and long, black winter trousers. He pulled on some socks while perched on the edge of the bed, then came to sit at Bill’s side. Bill noticed bruising on his knuckles.

“Did he h-hurt you?” asked Bill.

“ _Tried_ to.” Robert wrapped an arm around Bill’s shoulders and dragged him into his side. The fur on his coat tickled Bill’s cheek. “So I had him held down and… well…” He smiled toothily at Bill, something foreign and dangerous in his expression. “He’ll be signing those emancipation papers with broken fingers when they’re sent to him.”

“You- you didn’t h-hurt him too b-badly, did you?” he asked, and he wasn’t sure why, because his father’s well-being should have been the last thing on his mind.

Robert gave him a squeeze. “I didn’t kill him, much as I wanted to,” he said, which didn’t actually answer Bill’s question at all. There was barely even a pause before Robert changed the subject. “I told Granny you’ll be living here. There’s a spare bedroom, if you want it.”

“Should I not s-sleep in here?”

“You’re asking an awful lot of questions, little buddy.” Robert chuckled. “Sure, you can sleep in here. Whatever you prefer.”

“I’ll sleep in h-here,” said Bill immediately. He didn’t want to sleep in a different room to Robert, even if the floor was a little cold.

Robert’s thumb stroked over his shoulder. “Okay. I enjoy having you in here, anyway.”

Bill’s heart fluttered. “Robert, are you s-sure we can’t-“

“Not yet,” said Robert. “Not yet. You’re not ready for me.”

“Oh.” Bill slumped forward, embarrassed. “Alright.”

* * *

Within a month, Bill was officially emancipated. To his great relief, at no point had he been obligated to see his father; Robert had taken it upon himself to act as the mediator between them through the process, so any necessary face-to-face contact had been dealt with by Robert (and a few of his friends from New York, whom Bill had yet to meet personally).

Miss Gray wanted the day he became emancipated from his father to be a day he recalled with warmth, and thus went through the effort of setting up a small celebration for that purpose. There was chocolate marble cake, lasagne, and Bill was even permitted to have a glass of wine, which he greatly enjoyed. By the end of the day, the fact he’d lost a father was the last thing on his mind; he’d gained so much more in return.

The school year finished surprisingly fast, and now Bill was left wondering what university he could attend, and if he should live on campus. He’d already received many an offer from universities who’d been made aware of his astonishing grasp of the English language. He’d received plenty of offers for scholarships, but most selections – especially those who would best cater to him – weren’t situated within Derry, and moving wasn’t really something he wanted to do.

When he asked Robert for advice, he wasn’t happy with the answers he received.

“You can move out. I’m not about to hold you back, little buddy.”

Lying at his side, Bill frowned up at him. “But you w-want me to stay, r-right?”

“Sure I do; I’d leave you tied to my bed if I could,” said Robert, and Bill wasn’t sure he was being facetious. “And if you’re worried about the bills, those are being handled.”

“But it c-can’t be easy…”

“We’re fine,” Robert assured him. “I make good money. _Business_ is on the rise.”

“But you’re w-working harder t-than ever, too.”

“Hey, that’s my choice.” By now, Robert had figured out kissing Bill’s scalp was a sure way to calm him down, so he did just that.

Despite knowing exactly what Robert was trying to do, Bill turned to putty in his arms. “It d-doesn’t matter,” he mumbled into Robert’s chest. “I probably d-don’t have enough m-money to live on my own a-anyway. I could ask the u-universities, I guess, but I d-doubt they’d pay for me. They don’t w-want me _that_ badly.”

“I could be your generous benefactor,” offered Robert.

Bill gave his head a shake. “I’m not going to t-take any more of y-your money.”

“I never said you had a choice.”

“Robert…”

“I mean it, little buddy,” said Robert, his voice turning solemn. “If you can get an education and get a legitimate job, _I_ want to be the reason for it. I want that, Billy. It’d make me happy.”

It was a touching sentiment. No matter what trials and tribulations Bill encountered, Robert always seemed to know just what to say. He would make a great leader one day. The leader of what, exactly, Bill wasn’t sure, but there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Robert would claw himself to the top.

His resolve to remain independent crumbled. “If you do h-help me, I’ll p-pay you back.” He left little room in his voice for argument (though that had certainly never deterred Robert before). “And,” he continued. “You can only p-pay for my first year. I’ll deal with s-subsequent ones.”

“Are you sure-“

“Yes.”

“I can afford it, though!”

Bill nudged Robert with his elbows. “Don’t try to a-argue with me on t-this. I’ve m-made up my mind.”

“Whatever.” Robert gave a comical sigh. “But I’ll always have cash ready, should you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Bill assured him. By the end of his first year, he intended to have found part-time work.

He bit at the edge of his bottom lip. “I d-don’t know h-how to drive a car.”

Robert made an inquisitive sound.

“I’ll have to take the b-bus to visit you,” he clarified. “Or tu-t-train, d-depending on where I go. M-most of the university o-offers are pretty far a-away.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Billy. We’ll work something out,” Robert promised.

He ended up leaving for New York shortly before the new school term was due to begin. Robert and Miss Gray accompanied him to the train station, giving him hugs and peppering his face with kisses. He couldn’t help the tears that sprung to his eyes as the train departed and their grinning faces slowly receded from view. To be without them, even if only for a few months at a time, was going to be hard. He’d gotten used to having them around. Now he would have to learn to fend for himself.

His hands twittered nervously in his lap. There were other people in the train compartment with him, but he was having a hard time willing himself to speak to them. He’d only been away from Derry for a few minutes and already he desperately missed Robert and Miss Gray.


	4. Of men and monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Apologies for taking so long to update! Hope you enjoy this chapter!!

This marked the first time Bill had ever ventured out of Derry. With a population numbering in the millions rather than thousands, New York was significantly larger than his home city. Bill was in awe of the towering buildings, so high that they blotted out the sun, and pressed his face to the glass of his window to watch them fly by as the bus journeyed toward New York University. Derry might have had a theatre, numerous schools, and dozens of little eateries, but New York had everything from football stadiums to indoor skiing lodges. He hadn’t even known the latter thing existed! He would definitely have to try indoor skiing one day.

He was shaking when the bus finally came to a stop, and he continued shaking as he stepped out to join his peers in the courtyard of New York University. The sight of it took his breath away. It was _huge_. It was more like a castle than a school, so vast that Bill could imagine it housing a million students within its walls.

He swallowed and adjusted his grip on his suitcases. His palms were sweaty. A simple country boy like him should have never been able to get a scholarship for a place like this, but there he was, standing before one of the most prolific universities in America. For the next several years, this behemoth was going to be his home. He hoped he’d be able to settle in.

It took him some wandering to figure out where the male dorm rooms were, and even longer to get his dorm key from the receptionist and carry his luggage to the appropriate floor. He elbowed open his door and stepped inside, casting a quick glance over the room as he threw his suitcases into a corner. It was fairly small, modest, but not cold and sterile like some of the dorm rooms he’d heard about. With some possessions scattered about, it would start to feel cosy. It was a little cold, however, so one of the first things he brought out was the portable heater Robert had gifted him as a ‘going away’ present (though Bill had every intention of seeing Robert whenever he had the time.) He set it down beside the bed and relished in its heat as he sorted through the rest of the contents of his suitcases. Once he had made the bed and indulged in a short nap, he would empty his belongings into one half of the wardrobe. He had to reserve the other half for a potential roommate, though the receptionist hadn’t mentioned him having one yet.

Bill pulled a fresh bottom sheet over the mattress, prepared a pillow, and threw a blanket over the length of the bed, which he then slid under. He toed off his boots and stripped away his flannel button up shirt, making himself comfortable. He set the alarm on his wrist watch before closing his eyes. Dinner would be served in the cafeteria in a couple of hours and he wanted to be up for it. He hadn’t had anything to eat since the train ride.

The next week was going to be quiet and uneventful. There was orientation on Wednesday, but that wouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to do and would mostly consist of him following at the heels of a senior student while they familiarized everyone with key locations. Classes didn’t start until the following Monday.

Drifting off didn’t take Bill long. The day’s events had left him exhausted. His last conscious thought was of Robert and Miss Gray, and how much he wished they were here with him.

* * *

Despite his initial concerns, Bill eventually settled into his new lifestyle. His class schedule had been easy enough to adjust to and, surprisingly, left him with more free time than he’d ever had in high school. He gradually started to incorporate a social life into said schedule by acquainting himself with his classmates, and even started a tentative friendship with one of the friendlier ones. When he found himself with nothing to do, he would attend University hosted social functions and forge contacts with fellow writers; he knew if he ever wanted to make something of himself, he had to start networking. Being a successful writer had just as much to do with knowing how to promote oneself as it did quality of writing.

Robert managed to visit him every couple of weeks, and would often stay for at least two days to make the best of the time they had together. He didn’t come specifically for Bill, mind you; he had work to do on the side, which meant he would have to take calls and drop into places while they were out and about. All the same, Bill appreciated having him there.

On birthdays and breaks (barring holiday breaks Miss Gray’s birthday, which Bill would celebrate at the Gray household), Robert would spend an entire week with him, and _only_ him, and go so far as to follow Bill into lectures if Bill couldn’t shirk attendance. He still couldn’t see Robert as much as he would have liked, but he was satisfied with what visits he did receive.

In his absence, Robert’s life and Robert himself appeared to be changing. He was getting older, taller, stronger. He smoked and drank and he carried a knife on him wherever he went, and sometimes Bill smelt blood on his clothes. But he was also considerably happier, more confident and comfortable in his own skin. Bill worried about him – worried about him _a lot_ now that he had been exposed to life outside the little bubble of Derry and consequently had a better understanding of the things Robert was involving himself in, but at long as Robert was happy, he tried to be content. Bill loved Robert enough to accept even the parts of Robert that bothered him.

This sentiment wasn’t shared by his sole friend, however.

“Why do you hang around that guy, anyway?” asked Jason after one of Robert’s visits. He was someone Bill had hit it off with in his creative writing class. “You two are nothing alike.”

“H-haven’t you heard of o-opposites attracting?” asked Bill in return, more than a little annoyed with Jason’s brazenness. He never appreciated it when people gave him unsolicited advice, least of all when it concerned his private life.

“Yeah, I know, but…” Jason rubbed at the nape of his neck. “You’re so _normal_ , and that guy - there’s just something really off about him, you know?”

“I don’t,” said Bill coolly.

Jason regarded him sheepishly. “Have you at least noticed the looks he gives me? He glares at me when I speak to you. It’s super creepy.” Jason paused, then continued when Bill didn’t reply. “How’re you not terrified of the freak?”

Bill didn’t deign his comments with an answer, changing the subject to their assignment for that week. It was the first, and last conversation they ever had about Robert. Bill would _not_ talk about Robert behind his back.

It wasn’t long after this conversation that he entered his dorm room to find Robert curled up on his bed, his long legs curled to his bony chest. It had been raining that day and he was soaked to the bone. The rivulets of water on his face were tinged pink. When Bill glanced at his hands, he noticed red under his nails and on the sleeves of his coat.

He closed and locked the door before dropping his textbooks onto his desk and perching himself on the edge of the bed. Robert didn’t stir. When he grazed his fingers over Robert’s wrists and neck, he was relieved to find that the blood didn’t seem to have come from Robert himself. He wasn’t visibly injured.

“Robert,” he said quietly.

Robert’s eyes opened in an instant; perhaps he _hadn’t_ been sleeping.

“Is e-everything okay?” he asked.

“No,” said Robert, his tone monotonous.

Bill swallowed, preparing himself for the worst. “What’s w-wrong?”

Robert reached up and threaded his long, leather-gloved fingers into Bill’s hair, drawing him down for a kiss. The cold weather made it searing hot. Bill was quick to overcome his initial surprise and return it with enthusiasm, climbing onto the bed so their chests were pressed flush together. It didn’t particularly bother him that Robert’s dripping jacket was drenching him straight through to his skin.

It wasn’t at all like the first kiss they’d shared. That had been soft and chaste, born of a childish whim. This was hot and wild and steeped in desperation, and Bill heard himself make a sound, something strange and soft, like a whimper, except _happy_.

He forced himself to withdraw, least he get lost in the sensation. “What’s wrong?” he asked again, lowering his voice to a whisper.

Robert was silent.

“Please, Robert,” he whispered, lips brushing Robert’s pliant mouth. Robert was trying to steal additional kisses but failing, because Bill wouldn’t let him press their mouths together in that insistent, desperate way that could so easily shatter Bill’s resolve. “Tell me w-what’s wrong,” he said, fisting his hands in Robert’s jacket. “I w-want to h-help.”

“I killed a lot of people tonight,” said Robert.

Bill froze.

“I had to do it,” Robert continued, kissing his unresponsive lips and lowering his hands to Bill’s waist, holding him in place. His next words were spoken in such a calm, cold voice that they did more to chill Bill’s skin that Robert’s sodding wet attire. “They killed granny.”

Bill’s thoughts stuttered to a stop. He failed to notice the hands sliding under his shirt, the lips on his neck.

“What?” he whispered.

“They killed her,” Robert said, trying to divest him of his shirt, but Bill wouldn’t accommodate his insistent tugging by raising his arms. “Rival gang from New York. They killed her in front of me for taking over their operations and territory. They wanted to teach me a lesson, and they did, so I tore out their fingernails and teeth and stabbed them in stomach and listened to them scream and _scream_.”

Bill shook. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d known Robert’s job wasn’t exactly safe, nor legal; he’d come to terms with that, but this… this was too much, and he didn’t understand why Robert’s cold skin was gliding over his chest, pressing into the hollows between each rib. It was surreal and disturbing.

He grabbed Robert’s wrists and tugged them away, holding them between their wet, shivering bodies. “I k-know you’re u-upset,” he began, and it took everything he had not to break into tears. Robert needed him to be stable. “But you c-can’t escape what’s ha-h-happened through me.”

“I want to kill them again,” Robert whispered. “Again and again and again. I’ll kill their families.”

Bill shook his head. “Robert, you c-can’t- those are i-innocent people!“

“I don’t care!” Robert roared, and Bill flinched. “I’ll kill their families’,” he continued in a hiss. “Wipe them from the face of the earth. Every trace of them. No one will remember their names.”

Bill’s heart hammered behind his ribcage. This was not a side or Robert he had seen before and it frightened him. “You c-can’t do th-t-that,” he said, low and alarmed. “Sh-s-she wouldn’t h-h-have wanted th-t-that.”

“You don’t know what she would have wanted,” growled Robert, shaking and looking at Bill with wide, wild eyes. Bill was afraid. Terribly afraid. “And you’ll never know, because _they_ killed her. They killed her, Billy.”

“And they’re d-dead now.” Bill released Robert’s wrists to cradle his pale, clammy face in his hands. “They’re d-dead. D-don’t kill a-anyone e-else. P-please don’t. Please.”

Shallow breaths rattled in Robert’s chest. Bill was worried he had failed to have an impact on Robert, until he felt the man’s jaw loosen in his grip, his shoulders slumping in apparent exhaustion. His eyes were hard, but glassy, shining under the overhead light. All the fight had drained out of him.

“She’s dead.” Robert seemed to stare through him. “Dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Bill whispered, stroking Robert’s placid cheek. He didn’t know what else he could say, what would comfort Robert. Nothing anyone had ever said to him regarding the loss of his little brother and mother had ever made Bill feel better and he didn’t want to force Robert to pretend the empty platitudes he could offer helped.

Instead of replying, Robert tugged him to the mattress. Though it was wet and cold with Robert beside him, Bill didn’t complain. He wrapped his arms loose around Robert’s middle and watched his chest rise and fall with each shuddering breath. If Robert cried, he did so without making a sound, his face twisted away from Bill and pressed into his damp pillow.

“Bill,” he said, some minutes after silence had descended.

“Y-yes?” he asked wetly.

“When you’re done with classes, I want you to return to Derry. Stay with me.” In a whisper, he added, “You’ll be safe with me.”

Bill didn’t need to think before answering. “Okay.” It was what he had intended to do all along.

He held Robert close, stroking his hair until he fell into an uneasy slumber. With Robert asleep, Bill’s defences were felled. The grief crawled in and emptied his lungs of air and stung at his eyes. It made his throat ache and his body shiver – not from the cold, but an overwhelming pain that could neither be combated nor ignored.

And worse still, there was something racing alongside the grief. It was like water in his veins, sending his heartbeat skittering with an anxiety that made his skin prickle and goosebump. _Dread_.

He didn’t want to think anymore, not about anything, not about granny, or the people Robert had killed, because he’d begun to wonder if perhaps Jason had been right; perhaps he _should_ be scared of Robert.

* * *

Robert became scarce following Miss Gray’s funeral. He had spoken of having a lease on an apartment in New York, but very rarely found the time to drop in to see Bill despite that, and Bill didn’t know where to find Robert if he wanted to initiate contact. Whenever he requested an address, usually by mail – which was their primary form of contact these days, Robert would disregard the question. He never made the mistake of leaving a return address on his envelopes, either, much to Bill’s chagrin. Robert was deliberately avoiding him, and there was nothing Bill could do about it. He’d tried looking for Robert, but New York was enormous; one could walk the streets every day for a hundred years and still not find the person they were looking for.

He knew why Robert was avoiding him, of course. He understood and sympathized, in fact. It was frustrating; it left Bill with no one to share his grief with and now way to settle the dread that had made itself a resident of his chest, but anyone would be scared to spend time in their loved one’s company when it had the potential to make them a target of kidnapping or murder. He couldn’t hold it against Robert.

Often, Bill would see oddly dressed men lingering around the campus, trailing after him as he went about his day. They didn’t need to identify themselves for Bill to know they were Robert’s men, tasked with keeping an eye on him. He got used to them after a while. Having them around was even a little bit reassuring.

Eventually Robert gave him another route of contacting him – a phone number, but this was only after months of Bill requesting one. The letters were getting tedious and could be intercepted, he’d reasoned. Of course, at the time, he hadn’t known Robert’s men had been fishing them out of postage boxes in the dark of the night to deliver them to Robert directly.

By his third year of University, Bill had published a short horror story in a play boy-esque magazine and received two hundred dollars for his efforts. While it was a small reward for months of work, he felt it proved a point to his creative writing professor, who regarded the assignments Bill turned in with disdain for focusing on fantasy rather than social justice (Bill used his writing to _escape_ such things). He told Robert about it over the phone, who treated him to a dinner later that night as a reward.

His professor did manage to teach him a few important things, however, by assigning them reading material on the crime rates in America and asking them to write a short story referencing their newly gathered knowledge. By the end of the assignment, Bill had realized quite a few uncomfortable things about himself and Robert.

Though Bill had by no means been happy with Robert’s criminal lifestyle, it was the assignment that ultimately convinced him that he needed to get Robert on the straight and narrow. When he graduated and moved back to Derry, he didn’t want to have to worry about the things Robert’s criminal lifestyle obliged him to worry about; he wanted to lead a simple life, a _normal_ life; he wanted to move into the Gray household and sleep in Robert’s room and stay up late into the night talking just like they had as children. Things would never be how they used to be, with Miss Gray gone, but that was okay; Bill fully intended to make their life _even better_.

With how little he saw Robert, he had to wait until graduation day before broaching the topic with him. He did so by pulling him out of his seat and guiding him to a quiet corner, far from the festivities. He had his diploma stuffed in his robe pocket.

“I want to m-move back to Derry, ju-just like you said we would,” said Bill. He linked their fingers and smiled up at him. Robert returned the smile.

“The house is waiting for you, Billy,” Robert murmured, leaning down to nose against Bill’s jaw, his breath cold on Bill’s neck. “I’ve kept everything the way you remember it. There’s not a single thing out of place.”

_Except for Miss Gray,_ Bill didn’t say. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. “Including you?” He reached around Robert’s back to slide a hand down the curve of his spine. “You’ll be t-there too, right?”

“Yes.” Robert kissed his jaw. “I’ll never leave you. Never.”

“Never? You p-promise?”

“I promise.”

Bill relaxed into his grip. His cool lips felt good on Bill’s warm skin. “I can support us. W-with my writing, I m-mean.”

Robert looked at him inquisitively.

“I want you to give up d-d-doing whatever it is you do,” Bill elaborated. “You don’t need to d-do it anymore. I’m going to m-make us money.”

Robert slowly withdrew, hands coming to settle on Bill’s waist. “I _like_ what I do, Billy.”

“But…” Bill’s heart sunk. “But it’s d-dangerous, and it h-hurts other people. I d-don’t like it.”

“I’m _good_ at it.”

“That d-doesn’t mean you should do it.”

“I _want_ to do it.”

“Robert-!”

“Listen, little buddy.” Robert drew him closer, their chest flush together. Bill had to crane his neck to look at Robert’s face. “I have built an empire from _scraps_. We have more money than I know what to do with. I have hundreds of loyal followers. And I’m safe. _You’re_ safe. Nothing bad will ever happen to us. _Never again_.”

It took Bill a moment to process what had been said, and when he did, Bill swallowed around a bulb of tension growing in his throat. “I don’t n-need money. I n-need a n-normal life and a normal l-l-lover.“ His face turned pink; it was the first time he had referred to Robert as such. “I d-don’t want- I don’t want a-any of that. I’ve n-never wanted it. I j-just want to live like e-everyone e-else.”

Robert opened his mouth, and then closed it, frowning. His grip on Bill had turned vice-like, as though he were afraid Bill would flee. He seemed to sense that Bill was about to make an ultimatum, and by the look on his face, it wasn’t going to go how either of them wanted it to.

Bill licked his lips, which had suddenly gone dry. “Do you u-understand what I’m t-trying to say, Robert?”

Robert slowly nodded, his gaze unwavering. He didn’t blink.

“T-then you know I can’t go b-back with you u-unless you agree to give it up.” It was almost impossible to force out. His mind was at war with itself, morals fighting against the profound love he had for Robert, barely finding purchase in his chaotic need for the man. He wanted to be a good person, but it was hard – it was fucking hard to deliver that ultimatum when he so desperately needed Robert in his life.

A sharp inhale from Robert startled Bill out of his thoughts. When Robert’s lips curled back in a frightened sort of snarl, the light made his teeth look almost jagged, pointed. The teeth of a monster. “Why can’t I have both?” he asked, his voice hoarse and low. It sent shivers racing up Bill’s spine. He sounded like a child who had been denied something they coveted, mindless in their desire. “ _Why_?”

“Because – because w-what I w-want mu-m-matters too,” said Bill, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. His stammer was infecting so much of his articulations that he was amazed that Robert still understood him. “And I d-don’t w-want you running a-an _e-empire_ while we’re to-gh-gether, w-whatever the h-hell that means.” He swallowed, closing his eyes so Robert wouldn’t be able to see the moisture gathering in them. It was frustrating, how easy it was to make him cry. Or how easy _Robert_ could make him cry, rather. “I d-don’t want to b-be afraid of y-you anymore, and you’ve been sc-scaring me with this c-criminal k-k-kingpin shit.”

Robert’s breath hitched. “I’ve been scaring you?”

“Yeah,” said Bill quietly.

“But I’ve been protecting you. That’s all I ever did, Billy. I even left you just so you would be safe!”

“And you t-think I wanted that?” asked Bill, unable to help the angry note in his voice. “That I w-wanted to you put us in a s-situation w-where you had to ab-abandon me ‘f-for my own good’? I’m scared o-of you, and fucking scared _f-for_ you.”

“But you still love me, right?” Robert’s nails bit into his shoulders and Bill opened his eyes. “Even if you’re scared of me? Even if you’re afraid for me?” He gave Bill a gentle shake. “You still love me, right?”

“I’ll a-always love you,” he answered automatically, and he wasn’t sure if he said it because he meant it, or because he was worried about what Robert would do if he said no. He knew Robert would never hurt him, but himself, or others? That wasn’t out of the question.

“Then stay with me,” said Robert quietly. Bill could just about hear him over the sound of celebratory cheering from the auditorium.

“I-I-I gave you t-terms for that-“ Robert cut him off before he could finish.

“That _wasn’t_ a question, Billy.”

The conversation was getting out of hand. Bill didn’t know what to do, how to _fix_ it. He didn’t know if he _could_ fix it. He'd spent so many years excusing and justifying Robert's corrupt behaviour that having it directed at him so suddenly had blind-sided him.

He tried to extract himself from Robert’s grip only to have the man heave him back, pulling Bill’s shoulder to his clavicle. He held Bill there as he fell into a jog, hauling Bill away from the auditorium, away from salvation. There were a few people on the oval as they crossed it. Bill had half a mind to call for help, but decided against it; he didn’t want to get Robert in trouble. Robert’s behaviour might have been frightening, but he still _loved_ the man and he didn’t want Robert to end up spending the night in a jail cell, where he would be vulnerable to his enemies and to the law. The prospect of Robert being incarcerated or hurt was far worse than the prospect of being forced to live with Robert and tolerate his criminal ventures.

By the time they reached Robert’s car, he had stopped struggling. He allowed Robert to guide him into the back seat and sat against the door, staring out the window, as Robert’s chauffeur started the engine. There was no point in resisting. Even if he did somehow miraculously manage to free himself from Robert’s grasp, Robert had said himself he had ‘hundreds of loyal followers’, so it would have only been a matter of time before Bill was found. Not wanting to go to the police meant he wouldn’t have been able to enter protective custody, either. Not that that would have done him much good, by the sounds of things. Robert seemed to have far reaching influence.

Robert sat next to him and ran his fingers through his auburn hair, scratching idly at his scalp. Bill didn’t try to stop him. It was a comforting gesture despite it coming from the one who had summoned such anxiety in him. “It’s going to be alright, little buddy,” Robert said, his voice full of a warmth and optimism that made Bill’s throat tighten. “You’ll be happy and well cared for. I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”

Bill said nothing, fingering the diploma sticking out of his robe pocket. It was useless now. He’d never get to use it.  He swallowed down the urge to cry, curling away from Robert and making himself small, as small as he could possibly be at six feet.

Robert didn’t try to engage him in conversation once Bill had made it clear he’d no desire to speak. He instead spent the trip stroking Bill’s hair, looking pointedly away. The guilt etched into the lines of his face provided Bill with some comfort, and he was glad Robert didn’t seem able to look him in the eye. He at least, to some extent, understood what he was doing was wrong.

It turned out the place Robert had been staying was quite a bit more lavish than a simple apartment. Someone had converted a condo into a luxurious home with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a vast lounge room with attached kitchen, and a modestly sized activity room. The most notable feature was the eight-foot drop should Bill try to slip out a window. Not that he would, but he noted it regardless.

“This is temporary,” explained Robert as he guided Bill to a bedroom. “I’m going to get some men to gather your things and have them sent to Derry. We’ll fly down on the weekend.” His fingers grazed Bill’s cheek in a loving caress. “We’re going home, just like you wanted.”

Bill pursed his lips and glared, and again, said nothing. He removed his shoes and robe and lay down in bed, pretending to sleep until Robert had left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. It was a small consolation that Robert didn’t try to lie down with him. The man was giving Bill space, which Bill desperately needed.

He spent most of the night sniffling and fell asleep somewhere around two am, purely from exhaustion.

* * *

He woke up to his belongings stowed in a corner the following day. They had all been packed into suitcases that weren’t his own in an impeccably neat fashion. Quite unnecessary, since he’d be throwing them into wardrobes the moment he returned to Derry, but it was a nice effort, and the only thing that he said to Robert that day was that he should thank whoever he’d sent out to retrieve Bill’s belongings on Bill’s behalf.

He at his meals in his room and passed the time with television and books. Robert brought him new books periodically, most of which were strangely PG, like he was afraid anything more adult would drive Bill further away.

“It’s not w-working, you know,” he said to Robert one evening, looking up from the book he was reading.

Robert set his dinner tray on the bedside table. “What isn’t?” The nervousness in his voice betrayed his calm demeanour.

“W-what you’re t-trying to do with these books,” he said. “Ease me into b-being a pr-p-prisoner or whatever. It’s not g-going to w-work, so g-get me better b-books.”

The following day, the day they were due to fly back to Derry, Robert gave him three more books to read, all of which featured heavy adult concepts, and one which ended up being a popular raunchy romance that Bill found more amusing than anything else. They kept him occupied on the flight. He noticed Robert looking at him occasionally, his brow knitted, and made sure not to so much as smile at him. What little control he had, he needed to exert. Robert could imprison him, but he couldn’t make Bill act like the dutiful husband Robert wanted, and he knew Robert wasn’t so far gone that he could hurt Bill until Bill did. Robert had spent his whole life _protecting_ Bill; that wasn’t about the change no matter how badly Robert wanted his reciprocation.

When they arrived in Derry after a lengthy flight and car trip, Robert threaded their fingers and smiled down at Bill, murmuring, “I love you.” It took a great deal of self-control not to lose himself to the nostalgia of the moment and say those words back.

“I know,” he said instead. Robert went quite for a long while after that.

The Gray household was, just as Robert had said it would be, completely unchanged, so much so that it was a little unsettling to step inside. The only thing it lacked was the warmth that Miss Gray had provided. Without her there to brighten up the place with toothy smile and insistent offerings of confectionaries and tea, the house was stagnant and cold. Robert might have driven that away, once, but he only contributed to it now.

Robert’s room was still a mess, drowned in trinkets and junk that most people would have thrown out by now. Bill found the gifts he’d given Robert as a child among them and sat down on the edge of Robert’s bed with them in his lap, turning figurines, card sets, Robert’s camera, and various books over in his hands. He remembered the way Robert’s face had lit up when he gave them to him, full of youthful enthusiasm. Bill suspected he could have given him a plastic baggie of chicken bones and Robert still would have been grateful. He’d treated anything Bill gave him like a treasure.

The only new thing in the room was the collage of photos Bill had sent him while in college. Polaroids – Bill had bought himself a camera during his second year and sent Robert and Miss Gray photos after every notable event. Robert had kept every single one and pinned them to a corkboard.

He rubbed his eyes and stowed his childhood gifts to Robert in the bedside table, abandoning his reminiscencing in favour of emptying his suitcases. If he spent too much time dwelling on the way things used to be, he would just end up crying again. He’d cried far too much in the past few days.

Robert entered and offered him a cup of tea. As he’d already made it, Bill accepted it, seating it on his lap while he thumbed through the documents he’d collected over his time in university. He still had some outstanding bills. He’d have to send his payment by letter, so Robert wouldn’t try to pay them on his behalf.

The tea was mint and tooth-achingly sweet. “How many t-teaspoons of sugar did you put in here?” he asked absentmindedly.

“Three.” Robert paused. “Tablespoons.”

Bill failed to suppress a snort of laughter and Robert grinned.

“Are you happy to be home?” asked Robert, perching himself on the edge of the bed next to Bill, close enough to bring their thighs together.

“Sort of.” Bill sipped his tea and looked thoughtfully out the window. He could have maintained his silence and given Robert the cold shoulder, he supposed, and in fact, that was what Robert deserved, but Robert seemed so relieved to hear him laugh that Bill couldn’t bring himself to brush Robert off again. “I w-wish things were d-different,” he added, morosely, “I can’t feel at h-home anywhere when I’m being f-forced to stay.”

Robert leaned into him, broad shoulder against his chest. Bill didn’t push him away. He should have, but the memories of this place, the familiarity of it – it made it impossible to make a display of self-control. “It doesn’t have to be that way, Billy,” said Robert.

“Yes, it does,” said Bill, but he drew Robert closer regardless, burying his face in the man’s wild ginger hair. He must have used some sort of citrus shampoo, because it smelt lovely and sweet.

Robert made a rumbling sound low in his chest, almost like a purr. “If you just let me be what I am, everything would be okay again.” It was such a childishly simple solution. Robert hadn’t the life experience to deal with rejection in any other way, Bill knew. He didn’t know how to cope with it, because Robert Gray had rarely been denied anything in life.

“What yo-you are h-hurts people.” Bill remained buried in Robert’s hair, his breaths warming the crown of Robert’s head. “I ca-can’t let you d-do that, I- I can’t.”

“I only hurt _bad_ people,” replied Robert. “Bad people who _deserve_ to be hurt.”

“You h-hurt me.”

Robert audibly swallowed. He started to shrink away, but Bill held firm, preventing him from making an escape. “I never meant to,” he said, reluctantly. “I couldn’t lose you.”

“You’ve n-never been c-closer to just that.”

“You said you would always love me.” Robert’s voice was dreadfully soft and tremoring.

“And I w-will, in one way or another,” said Bill, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of Robert’s head, catching orange strands on his lips. “But you’ll l-lose me unless you f-fix this.” He spoke softly, cloyingly, to combat Robert’s own softness. He didn’t want to be talked into accepting things that were against his moral code. He was under no obligation to change – _Robert_ was. “Please, Robert?”

Robert turned in his grip and caught him by the wrists, pressing him to the mattress. He straddled Bill’s thighs. A surge of distress rocketed through Bill’s before he noticed how loose Robert’s grip was, ready to recede should Bill indicate a lack of interest.

Bill kept his expression as neutral as he could manage. Being held down like this, to Robert’s childhood bed – it was as arousing as it was unsettling, and he didn’t want Robert to notice the torrent of conflicting feelings he was generating.

“All of this…” Robert licked his lips. “Are you doing it because you’re scared? Are you really still in love with me? Do you really still want to be with me?” He was practically pleading for reassurance.

Bill forced back the automatic ‘yes’ that rose to his lips. He wouldn’t let fear guide him into what he said – not this time. “Are you s-scared, too?” he asked instead of providing an answer, primarily because he didn’t know how to answer yet.

Robert swallowed. With considerable hesitation, he answered, “Yes.”

Bill smiled. It wasn’t a malicious smile, taking pleasure in Robert’s unease, nor was it victorious. He was just glad.

“What are y-you afraid of?”

“Losing you,” answered Robert immediately. He dropped his face to Bill’s neck and breathed in deep, his eyelids fluttering against Bill’s skin. “I don’t know what I would do without you. I built my life around you.”

“And I b-b-built mine a-around you.” Bill stared up at the peeling paint on the ceiling while Robert buried himself, _hid_ himself against Bill’s skin. “I d-don’t know any o-other w-way to live, except w-with you.”

“Do you love me, then?” asked Robert, quieter this time. More reserved. “Do you want to stay?” His lips trembled against Bill’s neck, and he choked out, “ _Please_ answer.”

The immense power he held over Robert became apparent, in that moment. Robert would beg for his entire life, just like this, if he thought Bill had stopped loving him. Perhaps he wouldn’t give up his empire; he’d worked hard for it, after all, but there was otherwise little he wouldn’t sacrifice for Bill’s love. If Bill had asked him to slaughter the entirety of Derry just to prove it, he probably would have done so without hesitation, and that scared and comforted him in equal measure.

He shouldn’t have derived any comfort from it at all. Maybe they were both fucked up, in their own way.

“I will a-always love you, I k-know that much,” he decided. “But it might be love for w-what you _u-used_ to be.” Or what _they_ used to be, rather. “If t-things don’t c-change, that is,” he said, sliding a wrist out from under Robert’s hand to wrap an arm around Robert’s quivering back. His muscles were taut with tension under his dress shirt. “Tell me wh-what you’re willing t-to change to make this w-work.”

“I don’t know.” Robert sunk against him, covering Bill’s body with his own. With how tall he was, it was easy for him to do. “Tell me what I can change.”

He seemed afraid of fucking up. Which was a reasonable concern, considering how much and how _phenomenally_ he had fucked up lately. 

“I don’t know e-either.” It wasn’t _his_ criminal enterprise. He didn’t know how to dismantle elements he didn’t like about it. He barely knew anything about it to begin with. “But I don’t w-want to be a-afraid of you, or f-for you anymore,” he said, raking his fingers absently down Robert’s back. “We n-n-need to do s-something to ac-c-chive that.” As an afterthought, he added, “I do l-love you, and I want this to w-work.”

Robert paused, and then said, “How about I show you my empire? You’ll like it. You’ll _love_ it.”

Bill shifted restlessly beneath him. “You d-don’t know that y-yet,” he said, and cut off into a squeak when Robert licked a line up his neck. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Being affectionate,” Robert said, now pressing kisses to his jaw. The smooth texture of his lips was making Bill dizzy with desire. Bill’d had a crush on Robert for, what, six years? And when Robert had finally reciprocated his interest, they’d never gotten around to consummating it. It was stupid, after all that had happened, but Bill was taken by the thought of being claimed by Robert in a rush of heat.

“T-tomorrow? Show me t-tomorrow?” he asked, venturing beneath Robert’s shirt with shaky hands. The muscles on his back were smooth and warm, twitching under his fingers. He’d imagined doing just this more times than he cared to remember while at university, and with some regularity even before that.

“I’ll show you what I can, and let you change the things you don’t like.” Hands descended to his hips, deftly undoing his belt buckle. “Since I’m being so generous, can you do something for me, Billy?”

“Mhm?” Bill paid little mind to what was being said, focused on the feel of his belt sliding out of its loops and the sight of it coiling as it was dropped onto the mattress.

“Tell me you love me.”

Bill lifted his ass off the bed as Robert yanked his trousers down to his trembling thighs. He didn’t respond, distracted as he was.

“Billy,” said Robert, and this time he forced himself into Bill’s line of sight. His eyes were wide and bright as he gazed down at Bill. “Tell me you love me.”

“I a-already have,” he said, almost whining. Satisfaction was too close for him to demonstrate his usual degree of self-control and maturity. He hadn’t, in all his years of university, slept with a single person; he’d wanted to save himself for Robert, and finally he was going to get what he’d spent all those years waiting for. Not under the best circumstances, granted, but Bill was so overwhelmed by lust that he didn’t particularly care. He’d earned this. He deserved it.

“You didn’t do it properly,” murmured Robert. “So tell me you love me, _please_.”

“I love you,” he said obligingly, and groaned when the man palmed his cock and claimed his mouth in response. His teeth grazed Bill’s lips, threatening a bite, and his tongue licked into the sounds barrelling out of Bill. Bill had masturbated quite regularly in uni, as most boys his age were wont to do, but it was something else entirely to have someone else touch you. The texture and sensation were different, more intense.

“Not g-gonna last if yo-y-you’re not c-careful,” he whispered, grasping at Robert’s shoulders for leverage. He couldn’t believe the heat coursing through him. His face, chest and abdomen were aflush. He was teetering on the edge of collapse. He’d never felt like this with just his hand.

“That’s alright,” said Robert, leaning away from Bill briefly to close his window blinds. “We have all night, little buddy.”

Bill was glad to fall asleep after their lovemaking with a blissfully empty head.


End file.
